


Settling Up, Settling In

by Fenix21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Birth, Blow Jobs, Just sayin', LINDEN RATING: safe to read you might regret it if you don't, Labor and Delivery, M/M, Mental Instability, Mild Belly Kink, Mpreg, Post-Hell Sam, Pregnant Sex, Schmoop, Sick!Dean, bottom!Dean, cursed object-sex or die, male carriers, mid-season 6 AU, mpreg!Dean, other tags to come, sick!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4540479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenix21/pseuds/Fenix21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's been running himself ragged keeping Sam from scratching at the Wall Death put up in his little brother's head, and things are not okay between the brothers because Sam won't let Dean anywhere near him, and the only thing Dean really wants now? To retire. Because it's the only way to keep Sam safe. But a routine salt and burn leads to a cursed object that causes Sam to go into a sexual frenzy and get Dean pregnant, which is okay with Dean because that seems like the perfect ticket out. Until the Hell in Sam's head starts to spill over and he freaks out when Dean tells him about the baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam squirmed in his seat beside Dean, restless and sweating, in his fitful sleep. Dean wasn't surprised really. Kid had been through Hell.

Literally.

Sam's year in the Cage should have left him a gibbering idiot. God knew it had made a mess of Dean after just three months, enough that he'd succumbed to the torture and let Alistair turn him into his star pupil. When he'd finally made it topside, he couldn't get through a day without downing a fifth of Jack, or a night without waking up a sweaty pile of quivering flesh and knocking bones for the nightmares walking around inside his head.

But Sam had returned surprisingly unhindered by nightmares or other hangups from Hell. He certainly wasn't dependent on the liquid crutch Dean still so often fell back on. Death had obviously done a pretty bang up job on the Wall in his little brother's head, and so long as they followed the Horseman's warning not to scratch at it, they should be in pretty good shape.

Trouble was, Sammy wanted to scratch.

It was probably just guilt driving him. Guilt over what he might—or might not—have done while he was trooping around with no soul. Dean couldn't account for the year he'd believed Sam was dead, gone, beyond his reach for all eternity, except for some of the stories Samuel had told him. That alone had been enough for Dean to want to throw in the towel and close up shop, because Samuel hadn't known Sam as himself and didn't know to restrain him like Dean had for the following six months and act as the conscience Sam didn't have access to anymore.

When they'd managed to get Sam's soul reinstalled, Dean had respectfully asked the Campbells to vanish off the face of the Earth so Sam had as few reminders as possible as to what he'd done for the missing year and a half and nothing about his soulless rampages could slip out when lips might get too loose on the rims of whisky glasses.

It didn't help, though. Sam still itched and picked at the barricade in his head holding all his memories at bay. Dean shouldn't have been surprised. Kid never could leave a scab alone when he was little. So while Sam sifted through information in a search to piece together his missing time, Dean very quietly followed behind, burying any lead that looked even a little promising. He had to keep Sam safe, no matter how many police data bases had to fry or how many internet websites had to mysteriously disappear, courtesy of a very paranoid pal of Bobby's, in order to make that happen.

Sam had always been Dean's top priority, even when he'd wanted to kill the kid himself, and seeing him jump into that hole nearly two years ago had done something to him, made him suddenly aware how little it was all worth when the thing—the person—that had kept him fighting all along, whom he'd been fighting _for_ , was gone. Forever.

Settling down with Lisa and giving up hunting hadn't been as hard as he expected. It made him realize just how long he'd wanted out of the game. Sure, he was only thirty-two, but he'd been doing this since he was four, nearly as long as most men made a career out of, and he was so done with it, realizing that the past few years hadn't been about hunting things or saving people… It was about saving Sammy.

Dean had let Sam slip and slide through the cracks, more often than he wanted to admit, but this time was going to be different. This time Dean was going to stop the vicious cycle.

He'd suggested it to Sam—retirement—cutting their ties to this life and doing what Sam had made Dean promise to do before he jumped in that godforsaken hole in the ground. To go live that apple pie life. Dean wanted it, but he wanted it with Sam, and convincing his little brother of that was turning out to be harder than he expected, especially when their relationship was just holding as 'status quo.'

Dean supposed _that_ could qualify as a hangup from Hell—Sam's not wanting Dean to touch him. They hadn't been together since before the Cage, and Dean guessed it wasn't that Sam didn't want to be touched at all because everyone else was fine. It was just Dean he flinched from. After that initial reunion hug, Sam had shied more and more from Dean's touch. No more fingers sifting though his hair, no hand at the back of his neck, no knocking their knees together under diner tables, and definitely no sleeping together.

Anytime Dean did accidentally brush up against Sam or forget their new unspoken policy of hands-off, Sam would give him this odd look that was a contradictory cocktail of hunger and fear just before he'd duck his head or turn away and act like nothing happened. None of which made sense to Dean. Dean was no fool. He was an old hand at reading desire, and the desire was there in the singing tension of the knotted muscles of Sam's shoulders whenever Dean was close. But ever since his tour in Hell, Dean had picked up an uncanny ability to scent fear, and it clung to Sam like a wet blanket.

Dean wasn't exactly sure what Sam was afraid of, if he thought he might suddenly snap and hurt his older brother in some Hell related PTSD fit, or if it was a more general kind of fear of what he'd done during that time his mind couldn't account for and what kind of monster that might have turned him into, which was all the more reason for Dean to convince Sam sooner rather than later that retirement was a good idea and in the meantime keep him out of the deep end on hunts.

To that end, Dean had been keeping them to milk-run jobs recently. Like the one they'd just come off of: some low level haunting at a Native American museum in upstate New York. The ghost had been an easy thing—buried with an ostentatious headstone of a mounted cavalry officer that a blind man couldn't miss in the dark. Sure, they'd gotten a little banged up and bloody (that graveyard housed way too many narcissistic bastards with a penchant for huge headstones as far as Dean was concerned) but then it really wasn't a hunt if that didn't happen. Plus, the whole thing had the added bonus of being a museum with cool stuff that, while Dean couldn't give two cents worth for any of it except maybe the truly awesome weapons display, Sam was fascinated with to no end.

The gift shop had been pretty cool, too, yielding a couple of arrowheads Dean tucked in his pocket and a leather and shell bracelet for Sam ('I'm not a fucking _girl_ , Dean,' Sam whined, while fidgeting to get the leather knot throughout the clasp. 'Always a princess to me, Sammy,' Dean replied with a fond smirk) that claimed to be made from the 'authentic remains' of some Native American Shaman's get-up. They're luck, the damn thing'd be haunted, but he pocketed it anyway.

Sam shifted in his seat again and let out a little pained moan that had Dean's eyes tracking across to him. Something was obviously bothering Sam and when Dean's gaze did its natural, cursory sweep to take in his brother's long, lean body, looking for anything that could draw out that almost whimper, he found the culprit in the hard bulge of Sam's jeans where his thighs fell open. He rolled his hips against the leather, making it creak a little.

'Jesus, Sam…' Dean tried to force his eyes away and back to the road, but they kept coming back like the long, hard ridge of Sam's dick was some sort of biological magnet.

Sam made a deeper, more guttural sound, and Dean swore the bulge in his jeans got bigger, stretching the denim painfully tight. Sam splayed his legs open farther and palmed himself with a heavy moan.

'Oh, for fuck's sake,' Dean swore, shifting in his own seat to alleviate the sharp and sudden tightening in his groin. 'That's enough of that…'

Dean reached across and covered Sam's hand, drawing it away from his crotch because Dean just didn't have the skill set it took to get them the last couple of blocks to the motel while trying to ignore Sam rubbing himself off eighteen inches away.

Sam came awake with a sharp hiss of pain and his arms flailed a moment before one hand grabbed the dash and the other the door.

'Sammy?' Dean put his hands purposefully back at ten and two on the steering wheel. 'You okay?'

Sam pushed his hips up and forward in an attempt to alleviate the painful pinch of unyielding denim across his bulging crotch.

'Oh fuck…'

'Yeah…kinda got yourself a little worked up over there, little brother,' Dean said with the cautious shadow of a smirk. 'What the hell were you dreaming about, anyway?'

'Fucking you,' Sam bit out through clenched teeth, and Dean flinched away from his brother's apparent anger.

'Hey, sorry I asked,' he started, then frowned. 'No, wait—what?'

'I was dreaming about fucking you,' Sam snapped and hunched forward on a groan, pressing one broad palm over the straining bulge in his jeans. 'Hurts, Dean.'

'I can imagine,' Dean said with a low whistle. 'Looks pretty painful from where I'm sitting—'

'No, Dean. I mean it _really_ hurts. I need…I need you to…' Sam floundered a moment, rubbing at his crotch and grimacing in pain until the answer occurred to him in the form of Dean's hand.

'Hey—!'

Dean nearly veered into the opposite lane when Sam dragged his hand over and held it tight to the stiff ridge of his cock. Dean's body reacted instantaneously, hungry and deprived as it was, his own dick going rock hard in the space of two heartbeats. So quick that he almost felt a little dizzy from the rush of blood to his groin.

'Sam, I—' 

Sam rolled his hips up, pushing his dick into Dean's palm, which promptly curved to fit it and cradle it like it was second nature to him. Which it practically was, and Sam moaned again, but this time there was an edge of pleasure and relief to it.

'God, Dean, that's good. So good. Just…'

Sam kept rocking his hips up into Dean's hand, and Dean was never so glad to see the motel parking lot because his whole body was starting to shake with pent up need from months of forced abstinence. He swung the Impala into a spot in front of their room just as Sam reached to work his zipper down and give Dean access to hot, bare flesh.

'Commando, Sam? Really?' Dean choked out and barely remembered to jerk the keys from the ignition before he slid across the seat to give himself a better angle and purchase on his brother's dick.

'S-Sam, are you sure about this?' he whispered raggedly. ''Cause we haven't—you didn't—I didn't think you wanted—'

Sam fisted Dean's shirt and coat and jerked him closer. 'Just…touch me, Dean. Please. I need…' 

Sam pushed into Dean's tight grip, but it was a frantic punch of his hips born not so much of passion as desperation. It made Dean hesitate. But even if he had doubts about the cause of this sudden change of circumstances, he couldn't deny the obvious pain in Sam's face or the rush of blood in his own ears sending hot, heady waves of need out through every artery and vein, and pinging across every nerve ending.

'Sam, let's…let's go inside and—' Dean mumbled, hand still stroking at Sam's hot, bare flesh, reluctant to let go long enough to follow his own suggestion for fear Sam might suddenly come to his senses.

'No! No…' Sam yanked Dean downward, slamming their mouths together in a rough, sloppy clash of teeth and tongues. Dean could barely breathe, and it took every ounce of his meager remaining control not to just wrap himself around his little brother and fuck him right then and there.

Apparently Sam didn't even have that much control left.

'Here. Now,' he gasped, and ravaged Dean's mouth again like he was starving and his brother was the only thing to sate him. He jerked open Dean's zipper and got his hand inside.

The names of a hundred deities sprang into Dean's head at the feel of Sam's hand, warm and rough, against his needy flesh after so long, and at least a dozen fell past his lips into Sam's mouth.

'Christ, Sam…this is going to be the shortest fuck in recorded history,' Dean ground out. His free hand found Sam's shoulder and curled there, fingertips biting deep through muscle, down to bone, but in his other hand he only felt Sam grow harder and thicker, ignorant of any pain besides what was driving him in this sexual frenzy.

Sam's fingers fumbled a little, got caught in Dean's boxers, yanked the fabric so hard in frustration Dean gasped at the harsh abrasion against his sensitive skin. But then there was skin on skin and Sam's palm sliding through the slick, sticky mess of pre-cum pearling at the slit of Dean's cock and then he was stroking down the long, ready shaft with a sure, strong grip that bordered on painful because Dean was so full and so hard he felt like he'd blow his load any second or die from the agony of it.

'Sam…we gotta—gotta slow down,' Dean panted, trying to tear his mouth away from Sam's long enough to speak, but God! He didn't want to. He really didn't want to. He wanted to drink Sammy in, suck him down, and hold him deep inside himself. Jesus, it had been too damn long.

Sam only growled, low and pained, in his throat and worked Dean harder, thrusting faster into Dean's hand at the same time, skin sliding on velvet skin. When it became apparent he couldn't find the rhythm he needed from the position he was in, Sam slid forward, turning in one miraculously fluid movement so he was kneeling in the footwell. He dragged Dean across the seat so that his legs bracketed Sam's hips.

A few less clothes and a shimmy forward, and Dean could have that glorious, hard length of heat in his palm driving up inside him instead, spearing him open and deep with those powerful thrusts. But Sam didn't seem inclined or able to wait long enough to get Dean out of his jeans and instead picked up the pace of his thrusts and matched the pumping action of his hand to it which all combined to have Dean cursing his way to climax in seconds.

'Christ, Sammy, I can't—I'm gonna—' 

Dean groaned out his orgasm, hands clenching mercilessly on his little brother's shoulder and his hard cock, which swelled and pulsed under the sudden increase of friction and pressure, and spilled over Dean's hand a second later.

Dean collapsed back against the seat, pulling Sam with him, heedless of the thick, sticky mess between them that, in the back of his mind, Dean hoped had only landed on their clothes and not the leather.

'Sam, what the hell?' Dean gasped, still panting, trying to catch his breath and blink his vision back to something more than bleached out colors and static from lack of blood flow. 'Not that I'm complaining, mind you.'

'Dean, something's wrong,' Sam said, struggling to push himself upright, to put distance between them. 'I feel like I need…' Sam floundered.

'Wrong, huh?' Dean said, clearing the hurt from his voice with a little cough. 'Maybe it was just something you needed, you know? Physically. Nothin' wrong with that. No harm done.'

Sam shook his head, face still marred by a grimace of pain, eyes registering confusion. 'No, I mean…'

He groaned again and rolled his hips, and Dean realized Sam was still rock hard in his hand. His brow wrinkled, mirroring the confusion in Sam's eyes. Sam had come, Dean was sure of it. He had the crusty mess drying on his hand to prove it, so how…?

'I need more, Dean,' Sam said, rolling his hips into Dean's hand, pushing up close between his thighs. He leaned forward to taste Dean's mouth again, a little gentler this time but no less needy. 'I need it again.'

'O-Okay, Sam,' Dean conceded warily, 'but we gotta go inside. My back can't take this, and I don't think your knees can either.'

Sam jerked a nod and stuffed himself back in his jeans while Dean did the same. With a few curses from both, an elbow to Dean's diaphragm and a knee dug into his thigh, Sam managed to wrangle his long body out of the footwell and out of the car. Dean rolled out after him, running a hand through his sweaty, tousled hair and hoping they had no nosy neighbors and that he didn't actually look like he'd been doing exactly what he had been doing in the front seat of a classic car in a motel parking lot. God, the cliche alone was embarrassing enough to kill him.

'Dean…' Sam whined, hands shoved in his pockets to keep the stiff, harsh fabric off his oversensitive cock that was still bulging out the front of his jeans. Dean felt himself starting to twitch back to life at the sight of his little brother, shifting from foot to foot, flush-faced and anxious like he was sixteen again, dick at the ready and wanting someplace hot and tight to stick it.

'Fuck,' Dean mumbled under his breath, jerked at his coat to shield his own resurgent erection, and jammed the keycard impatiently in the motel room door lock.

Sam barely let him get the door latched before he was on him again, one hand at his crotch, squeezing almost too roughly, until he felt the surge of blood bring Dean's cock all the way to attention again. The other hand snaked down the back of Dean's pants which had grown too loose on him over the last months as his non-stop worry over Sam and his missing soul had driven him to the bottle more often than a well balance meal. 

Sam's fingers trailed through the sweat prickling at the base of Dean's spine and pushed down and down deeper to press against his hole, rubbing there. Dean yanked his mouth away from Sam's, gulped a breath, and his head bounced off the door in shock as Sam's finger pressed in and up. Just the tip, but it felt good. It felt so good to have any part of Sam inside him again, no matter how big or small; and if his body had felt any reticence or was in the least bit disinterested in a second go round so soon, it certainly changed its tune as Sam urgently worked at Dean's hole in the confines of his jeans, thrusting his finger in and out, glancing off Dean's prostate and making him hiss sharply at the intense pleasure when he drove deep enough.

Dean, in turn, had both hands on Sam's broad shoulders, fisted in the fabric of his shirt under his jacket as he tried to get some leverage between Sam's body and the door behind him to crawl up, shift upward somehow, so he could ride Sam's hand, take him deeper inside. He only succeeded in pinning Sam's arm, though, and hindering his movements.

'Sam. Bed. Now,' Dean bit out, squirming between Sam's hands, not wanting to lessen the friction or break the deep-driving rhythm even long enough to get the three feet to the nearest bed.

He convinced himself, however, by getting a hand between Sam's spread legs and palming the thick, swollen bulge of his cock as a reminder that getting to the bed meant he could have _that_ inside of him instead of just Sam's finger.

Sam wasn't inclined to move, for whatever reason, so Dean flattened his hands on his chest and gave him a hard shove backward, just barely checking the whine from his own throat at the loss of heat and pressure and touch. Sam stumbled and bounced on the bed, gave Dean a brief, dirty look, but recovered fast, taking the hint and stripping out of his jacket and shirt, toeing off his boots, and wriggling free of his jeans and boxers.

Dean had to stop for a second in his own process of disrobing to remind himself to breathe at the sight of Sam sitting there on the end of the bed completely naked. Miles and miles of tanned skin stretched over the remains of a physique Sam had spent his sleepless hours perfecting when he was soulless. It was beautiful. Sam was beautiful.

Dean was struck again by how much his baby brother wasn't a baby anymore. Hadn't been for years, and the hardest thing Dean had ever had to do was admit that to both of them. The day before Sam jumped into the Cage. The last time Dean had seen him like this.

'Dean, I…'

 Sam's voice was tense and a little desperate. His legs were spread wide, giving Dean a clear view of his angry red, blood fattened cock, still coated with the evidence of their interlude in the Impala, and twitching hungrily.

'Christ,' Dean whispered, running a hand down his face and then jerking at his belt buckle to let his jeans slide easily off his too slim hips. Just the thought of that thick, hard shaft breaching his ass and stretching him open had Dean panting and his own cock weeping steadily in want of Sam's calloused touch.

Sam opened his mouth to make another plea, and Dean advanced the couple of steps to him, planted his hands firmly on Sam's shoulders and knocked him over backward before climbing up to straddle him.

'Sam, I don't know where this came from, or what's causing it,' Dean said breathlessly against Sam's searching mouth, 'and I don't much care, but if we do this, if you don't stop right-the-fuck-now, there isn't going to be any stopping. Got it?'

Sam answered by wrenching Dean's head down to close the last inch between their lips and then tongue-fucking his brother's mouth until Dean was all but whining in need and grinding his ass down on Sam's hard length in a vain attempt to get some penetration.

'Wanna fuck you, Dean,' Sam breathed through their brutal kissing that was more a mashing of mouths and harsh nips and bites and sucking of tongues. 'Wanna fuck you so hard, open you up, and get inside you so deep.'

Among the myriad of clues cropping up that something about this whole thing was not right, Sam talking like that should have been another big one. Sam didn't talk like that during sex. Of the two of them, Dean had the dirty mouth, Sam was usually much quieter and used action over words. But too much of Dean's blood supply was be rerouted to his aching cock, leaving his thinking brain—the one between his ears anyway—with barely enough to run necessary bodily functions like breathing, much less enough to put a coherent thought together or provide him with enough reason and resistance to put a stop to any of this.

'Do it, Sammy,' Dean begged instead. 'Don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that…please do it.'

Sam rolled them easily with an upward thrust and twist of his hips and then Dean was under him, legs spread wide and wanton, ass open and willing.

Sam's love making techniques—because with Sam, it was always more than just sex—always included foreplay. He was very touchy-feely, only rarely going for the gold with little or no prep. He enjoyed torturing his brother with endless kissing, nipping at all the tender places like the inside of his hipbone and under the last rib on his right side which, for reasons beyond Dean, had always been extremely sensitive to Sam's tongue. He reveled in laving Dean's cock with that same tongue, suckling too gently at the head to make him come, but just enough to frustrate and tease the hell out of him. 

Whatever was driving Sam now, though, had no patience for any of that.

Sam dropped over him, crushing down onto him with his full weight, getting a hand into the short hair at the back of his head and twisting until Dean's head came back and Sam could lay claim to his mouth again. Sam's other hand moved between them, grasping and milking Dean's cock until he gave up a warm, slick puddle of pre-cum that Sam could drag his fingers through and then push up inside of his brother. He repeated this until Dean's hole was good and wet and he was near to screaming in frustration until the swollen head of Sam's cock pressed at his entrance, sliding in the wet, but dragging still because Dean was ill-prepared, tense with anticipation, and hadn't bottomed for anybody since before Sam jumped into the Cage.

Dean's fingers hooked in Sam's shoulders, digging down through muscle again, and he hissed in pain, but Sam kept pushing, stretching him open until Dean was sure he couldn't take anymore. He wedged a hand between them, planted it against Sam's sternum and pushed.

'Fuck, Sam…stop!' he hissed through clenched teeth. 'Just for a—for a second. Let me—'

'Can't stop, Dean, ' Sam growled against Dean's throat. 'Can't stop.'

And he didn't. Sam kept pushing, driving forward. The only grace was that Dean was so tight, Sam had no choice but to go slow or cause himself more pain. By the time Sam was fully sheathed inside him, Dean was panting, dizzy, slick with sweat, and felt so full he thought his insides were going to burst.

Then Sam moved.

Dean cried out and tried to lock his legs around Sam's lower back to still him, but Sam was too strong. He hooked an arm under Dean's thigh and pressed it up and out, forcing him open.

'Sam, don't—' Dean cut off on a groan as Sam drew back and then thrust forward with a single powerful roll of his hips. Dean almost whimpered with the intense pain coupled with a bright, sharp shaft of pleasure as Sam's thrust stroked over his prostate.

'Want you, Dean,' Sam mumbled, mouth still pressed against Dean's throat. 'Need…need you. Have to have you…have _this_ …'

Dean swallowed another cry of pain and tried to force himself to relax into Sam's brutally strong rhythm, to ride it, open to it, and let Sam take what he needed.

Sam's head abruptly snapped up, and Dean caught the heat-glitter of his eyes that made the gold flecks almost glow amid the vibrant swirl of green and blue. Never had he seen Sam look so…wild. Sam was passionate—or he had been—but he wasn't unrestrained.

The man above Dean now was acting on his basest instincts, ones brought down from the dawn of time that slept far back along the civilized homo sapiens brain stem and knew the original meaning of things like power and lust.

'Jesus, Sam…' Dean whispered. He grasped Sam's face in his hands for just a moment, felt the feral tension in the stiff line of his jaw and neck muscles.

'Dean…let me…?' Sam begged.

Never a day in his life could Dean deny his baby brother anything he needed, and he _needed_ this like he needed oxygen in his blood. Whatever this was, Sam was not in control of it, but he was _here_. There was no one and nothing else behind those beautiful eyes, fierce though they were. Nothing else at work here, but Sam unfettered, unbridled, and in desperate need of sating.

So Dean did what he always did, the only thing he could do—he yielded to his little brother.

Sam felt the moment it happened, the moment Dean gave himself over to the  turbulent blend of pain and pleasure and let it carry him higher and higher with each powerful thrust of Sam's hips until it became a near violent clash of bodies that had Dean biting into the meaty flesh of his own hand to keep from screaming out as Sam filled him, slamming home again and again.

Dean had come long ago, cock trapped between their heaving bellies, the friction and razor sharp pleasure too much for his body to deny. He felt the moment Sam spilled inside of him, gushing molten and deep, so deep Dean could feel the heat of his brother's seed flow out from the pit of his belly into every vein, singeing every synapse. 

'Sam…' Dean breathed out on an exhausted sigh. He was limp, spent, drained of every drop of desire after coming so violently. Twice.

Sam was shaking under his hands, but still braced above him, breaths heaving in and out. Dean tried to drag him down, to coax him to rest, even if it meant sprawling across his older brother and nearly smothering him—something Dean normally bitched about and teased him unmercifully for doing.

'Sammy…'

But Sam didn't budge, and when he lifted his gaze to Dean's, it flickered hot behind the dark, sweat-damp tangle of his hair. It was then Dean felt it. The still hard, hot, persistent swell of his brother's dick inside him.

'Christ, Sam, you can't possibly…?' 

Dean moaned as Sam shifted, drawing out a little and sliding back with a wet squelch of spilled fluids. He was hard as ever, like he hadn't come at all, and certainly not twice in the last thirty minutes. 

'Dean, I can't stop,' Sam said miserably, stroking in and out again, making Dean gasp as hard heat rubbed over too sensitive flesh.

'Holy fuck, Sam… You're gonna be the death of me,' Dean said. _Maybe literally._

And so it began again.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean had experienced his share of bad morning-afters, but this one had the potential to top them all.

When he woke up, Sam was already dressed, shored up in three layers of t-shirt, flannel, and hoodie, sitting beside the door in the chair furthest from the bed, and watching Dean with a combination of fear, apprehension, and fury. 

None of which did Dean see as being warranted.

He sighed and rolled onto his back. His brother's sharp gaze followed his every move.

''Mornin', Sam.'

Sam said nothing.

Dean sighed again and rolled into a sitting position, hissed under his breath at the throb in his backside. Damn, but he wasn't going to walk right for a week after last night. He put his hands down beside his thighs and let his arms take his weight to relieve the discomfort.

'I hurt you.'

'What?' Dean looked up. The fear was winning in Sam's eyes. 'Yeah. Well. I'm gonna feel it, that's for sure, but…not like it's a bad thing, huh?'

Sam ignored the question. 'Were you protected?'

Dean frowned. Sleep fogged brain trying to find meaning in those words. 'Protected? What—?'

Oh.

'You weren't, were you?' Sam's gaze was weighted heavy on the side of fury again. His knee was jumping under the table. 'Were you?'

'Dude, chill,' Dean said, standing. He was naked, and Sam turned his eyes away like a virgin school-girl caught peeping, but he wasn't blushing, and the muscle in his jaw was jumping wildly in time with his knee. Dean rooted his boxers from the tangle of jeans on the floor and tugged them on before going over to the miniature coffee pot in the kitchenette and setting it to perk up the house special.

He leaned against the counter and rubbed a hand across his chest, yawning hugely. 'Christ, Sam, you just spent the better part of twelve hours fucking me into the mattress in some sexual frenzy, and you're worried about _protection_?' 

'Were. You. Protected,' Sam ground out, body going abruptly and dangerously still.

Dean glared at him for a long second and then made a dismissive gesture. 'Relax about it. I told Cas to…just not worry about fixin' that part the last time.'

Sam flinched hard at the unintentional reminder of how badly he'd beaten his brother while he was under Lucifer's control. 'Dean, I'm sorry—'

'Hey, don't be. Okay?' Dean said, turning away to hide the pinch of regret he wasn't sure he could keep from his face, not quite sure where this conversation had jumped tracks. 'You weren't yourself.' He shrugged, sipped at his coffee, kept his gaze focused anywhere but on Sam. 'Not like I was gonna need it with Lisa, and I sure a hell wasn't poppin' out anybody else's kid but yours, so…'

Sam flinched again at Dean's careless confession, but this time it was driven by the fear in his eyes that Dean still couldn't understand. He took his coffee and went back to sit on the bed, this time on the one closer to his brother. Sam's knee picked up its rhythm again, bouncing under the table.

'So, since we don't need to worry about _that_ , we should probably focus on last night, because if I were to judge,' he let his gaze pointedly skim Sam's tense, fully clothed, hunched-into-himself form. 'I'd say it wan't exactly in your plans.'

'No,' Sam said quickly. Quick enough that it jabbed hard and painful at some soft spot under Dean's heart, but he just nodded and hid behind the rim of his coffee cup.

'That's why I've been cataloguing everything we've done and touched over the last few weeks, to see if something might have affected me. I searched our stuff for hex bags, too.'

'We haven't done any witches lately,' Dean said.

'No, but better to be safe.'

'Come up with anything?'

'No.'

'Huh.' Dean's mouth hitched in a quirked smile. 'Maybe there's something to that Indian shit.'

'What? What are you talking about, Dean?'

Dean lifted his chin at Sam's wrist. 'The bracelet. 'Was supposed to be some Native American Shaman magic or something.' Dean waggled his eyebrows. 'Aphrodisiac.'

'Jesus Christ, Dean!' Sam scrabbled at the bracelet, stripping it off, and turning it over so he could see the carved symbols on the back. He cast Dean a dark look. 'Can you sink any lower? Seriously?'

'Hey man, it's been a while, okay? I'm human. I have needs,' Dean answered, mock whining, but it made that regret in Sam's eyes seep to the forefront, and he backpedaled a little. 'Look, it's not like I expected it to work or anything. It was just a joke. I was just kidding.'

But Sam was already typing furiously. 'Do you have the tag? Did it give the Shaman's name or the tribe or anything?'

'Dude. You're the history buff. No, it didn't. I don't think. Anyway, I threw it in the trash at the museum last night.' Dean shrugged.

Sam continued to type and squint at the screen while Dean worked his way through a refill and a shower. When he came out of the bathroom, toweling at his dripping hair, Sam got up from the table.

'We need to go back to the museum.'

'Huh?'

'I can't find anything on it, Dean. Nothing on this symbol. We need to ask the museum curator about it and—'

'Whoa, whoa.' Dean came across the room, put a hand on Sam's shoulder, ignored the way his little brother tried to evade his touch because Sam was getting ready to hyperventilate. Dean had seen it enough times over the years to recognize the signs.

'Sam, just calm down and breathe.' Dean let his hand slide away because that was only agitating Sam more, but he stayed close, squatted down in front of him. 'Look, if you can't find anything on it, then there's probably nothing to find. It's all just a bunch of hocus-pocus. Okay?'

'But _something_ caused it, Dean! And I—'

'Yeah, maybe something did, but it's over now. You're okay. I'm okay. No nasty side effects—'

'That we know of.'

Dean conceded with a half shrug. 'Well, we're okay for now. So, just relax and don't worry about it.'

Sam almost seemed to consider it for a moment, but then his brow pulled tight again. 'I hurt you.'

Dean sat back a little, frowning. 'Why are you so hung up on that, Sammy, huh? Not like we've never played rough before.' He reached out slowly, put a hand on Sam's knee, and for just a few seconds Sam let it stay there, his expression one Dean would almost call relief before it turned pained again, and Sam shifted his knee from beneath the weight of his brother's palm.

'Sam…talk to me. Please,' Dean whispered.

But Sam said nothing. He turned back to his open laptop.

'I'll send a picture of it to Bobby. Maybe he can find something.'

'Sam…'

'I just…' Sam's head fell forward for a moment, hair hiding his face. His voice was a broken whisper. 'I just need to know.'

'Okay.' Dean pushed up with a defeated sigh. 'But it's gonna be a few weeks. He headed across the border last week with Gwen and Matt and Samuel, remember? Radio silence. Said it was probably going to be three weeks, maybe more.'

'Yeah, I remember,' Sam said. 'He can look at it when he gets back.'

Dean shook his head, still confused by Sam's desperation over their rough and tumble sex of the night before. Dean would admit it was out of character for the current monkish version of Sam, but not the man he used to be—not entirely. Dean couldn't figure what it was Sam was so afraid of. There was a knot in his gut that said it had something to do with Hell and the Wall, that even this little bit of what they were doing now was too much, and it was all going to come crashing down around them if Dean didn't convince his little brother sooner rather than later that they needed to get out of the life for good.

He watched as Sam picked up the bracelet gingerly between two fingers, wrapped it tight in an old sock, and crammed it down to the bottom of his duffle. 

Well, Dean thought, if by some miracle that Shaman stuff were actually real, it sure wasn't going to be working a second time.

Dean turned away and set to packing his own duffle.

——

It was over a month before Bobby got his hunt wrapped up and another three weeks before he was able to dig up anything on the Native American symbol in the picture Sam had sent him of the bracelet. By which time, Dean was starting to suspect he had the perfect reason for getting them both on the retired list. It was just how to tell Sam without him freaking out.

'So, I was coming up dry because I was focusing on the Haudenosaunee tribes, given where you boys were and the museum you said Dean stole it from,' Bobby said over the speakerphone. 

'Hey! I left money on the counter,' Dean protested. Sam raised an eyebrow. Dean shrugged. 'I did.'

'Anyway. It's actually a combination of three or four tribes near as I can tell. Got some Pueblo and Inuit in there. I'm still working on the rest.'

'Do you know what it means, Bobby?' Sam asked.

'Well, it looks like most of the symbols this one was based on have something to do with the harvest or fertility,' Bobby explained. 'Probably accounts for their touting it as a libido enhancer.'

Sam flinched a little at the memory of that night, and Dean rolled his eyes.

'But do you think there's really anything to it, Bobby?' Dean asked.

'Don't know yet. I'll have to do some more diggin'. You boys doin' all right? Any other after effects or anything?'

Dean rubbed a cautious hand across his stomach which was starting to warn him of a possible near future rebellion for the sugary breakfast he'd put down it.

'Naw,' he said. 'We're fine here.'

'So far,' Sam added. 'Just keep working on it, will you, Bobby?'

Bobby sighed over the phone, and Dean could understand his frustration spending valuable research time on this. After all, it didn't really matter now, did it?

'Sure,' Bobby agreed. 'I'll let you know what I find. You boys take care.'

'Thanks, Bobby,' Sam said. 'You, too.'

The line went dead and Sam started to turn in his chair. 'Dean—?'

But Dean was already up and in the bathroom, succumbing to his rebellious stomach. When he came back out, Sam was watching him quizzically.

'You all right?'

'Yeah, fine,' Dean said. 'Too much sugar or something.' He reached for his jacket. 'Think I'm gonna go up to the Gas 'N Sip and get some Pepto and some real food. You want anything?'

Sam just stared. 'Too much sugar… Dean, I've seen you put away half a pie in one sitting. You had one donut, and it didn't even have sprinkles.'

'Hell, I don't know!' Dean snapped. 'Maybe it's the flu. Whatever. Now, do you want anything or not?'

Sam shook his head slowly, frowning. 'I'm good, thanks. You sure you're all right?'

'Yes, Sam. I'm fine,' Dean bit out and slammed the door on his way out.

 

Twenty minutes later, though, Dean wasn't so sure he was fine at all.

His hands were shaking so badly he could barely stuff the thin plastic stick with the glaring pink plus sign he was holding back in its box and wrap it up tight in a plain paper bag before throwing it in the dumpster behind the gas station.

He leaned against the crumbling cinder block wall of the rundown building and closed his eyes for a second. He was feeling light headed, and he hoped it was just from the shock. It wasn't like he hadn't suspected, but seeing the confirmation for real had kind of thrown him.

'Dean?'

Dean snapped his eyes open and met a pair of too vibrant blue ones a mere couple of inches from his own.

'Cas…Jesus! Personal space, man. We've talked about this,' Dean swore.

'Sorry.' The angel took a deliberate step back and then one more at the dark look in Dean's eyes.

Dean stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, unconsciously pulling it around himself. Hiding. 'What are you doing here?'

'You called.'

'No. I didn't.'

'You were thinking it most emphatically,' Cas insisted.

Dean swore again and stared down at his boots.

'If you do not need my services—' Cas started to turn away.

'Cas, wait,' Dean said.

The angel turned back, face ubiquitously blank, patiently waiting.

'Cas when you…when you fixed me up after Sam—after _Lucifer_ —used me for a punching bag, and I told you not to bother w-with…' 

Cas' face softened a little. 'You asked me not to repair your reproductive functions. Yes, I remember. What about it?'

Dean rolled his eyes at Cas' clinicallity. 'Well, you didn't, did you?'

'I repaired the organs themselves, but not their functions, just as you requested. If you've changed your mind, I can remedy that.'

Cas reached out a hand and Dean caught at his wrist. 

'No. No, Cas. It's fine.'

Cas dropped his hand. 'I do not understand, Dean. Why did you call me here to talk about your reproductive system?'

'Because I'm pregnant.'

The words were stark, blatant, heavy things in the air between man and angel, and Dean felt the world tilting a little at the sudden rush of blood from his head now that his suspicions were confirmed and spoken out loud.

Cas put a hand on Dean's arm to steady him. 'I don't understand how this could happen, but congratulations are in order, yes? The baby is Sam's, I assume?'

'Yeah. Yeah, it is, but he…' Dean drifted off, bit his bottom lip, and stared at his boots again.

'He does not know,' Cas said, 'and you do not wish him to.'

'No. Not yet, at least,' Dean said. 'Cas, can you, uh…' He floundered a little and then opened his coat, let his arms fall to his sides. 'Can you check? Just to be sure?'

'Dean, you would be better served to see a doctor who specialized in this area—'

'Cas…please.'

Cas' expression softened another degree at the need in his friend's quiet plea, and he put out a hand, flattening his palm against Dean's midsection.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden sensation of warmth spreading through his belly. It lasted only a moment before Cas pulled away with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

'So?' Dean asked.

'You are definitely pregnant,' he answered. 'I would say about seven or eight weeks.'

'Dean folded his coat around him again. 'Yeah, that would make it about right. Is it…? Can you tell if it's…okay?'

'I am not a human doctor, Dean, but yes, its soul appears to be very healthy,' Cas assured.

'Soul?'

'Yes. At the first spark of life, the soul comes into being,' Cas said.

'Right.' Dean nodded. 'Well, that's good to know. That it has a soul, and it's…normal?'

'Very definitely,' Cas answered. 'Were you expecting it not to be?'

'No, just…glad everything's all right.'

'Yes, apart from you being able to become pregnant at all, it is quite normal.'

Dean shrugged. 'We can chalk it up to a miracle or something. Doesn't really matter now, right?'

'Right,' Cas agreed with a tiny frown. 'You _are_ going to tell Sam, aren't you?'

'Yeah, absolutely. Eventually.'

'I will be happy to come along and provide moral support and point out the many joys of bringing a child into the world if you think he will be unhappy about it in any way,' Cas offered, ready to launch into and recount in their entirety, the many blessings of parenthood right there on the spot.

Dean held up his hands, finally cracking a smile. 'Whoa, Cas. Thanks. Really. But this is for him and me, okay?' 

'Of course.' Cas nodded.

'He won't be unhappy. I don't think. Just shocked, But it'll be fine,' Dean said.

At least he hoped so. He really hoped so, because Sam had seemed pretty freaked out the morning after, before Dean had assured him _this_ very situation was an impossibility. It had to have something to do with that charm, and Dean needed to find out what it was before Bobby got back to Sam about it.

'Look, Cas, thanks, but I've gotta get back.' Dean started for the car, but Cas put a hand on his shoulder.

'Dean, take care of yourself.' He looked pointedly at Dean's middle. 'Be careful, please, and call me. If you need anything at all, call me.'

Dean paused and stepped into the angel's outstretched arm long enough to give him a swift, hard hug.

'Thanks, man. I will. Definitely.'

Dean turned away and the quiet flutter of wings indicated the angel's departure before he'd gotten halfway across the lot to the Impala. He had no idea how he was going to tell Sam about this, but he had to figure something out, and he was definitely going to spin it toward their not hunting anymore, because he just wasn't going to take the risk. 

He sat in the quiet for a minute before his hand crept up to his waistband and spread there, remembering the flood of warmth under Cas' touch, imagining he could feel the life there. He wanted Sam safe and sound, away from anything that might threaten the stability of the Wall Death had put up in his head, but he had something—someone—equally important to consider now.

This was probably a one shot deal. Wasn't ever going to have happened on its own, even before Hell and the Cage and Sam's reluctance to have any kind of relationship with him. They had been so careful before, always saying 'maybe later, when the time is right.' But the time was never going to be right, and they both knew it deep down. Dean had even said it once, that they were going to go out young and bloody, die fighting, even though that wasn't what he wanted.

What he wanted was _this_ , and he was damn well going to protect it with everything he had in him.

——

'Dude, what?' Dean finally asked, irritated at Sam's blatant disbelieving stare across the diner table.

Sam quirked an eyebrow. 'Dean, you just ordered water and a _grilled_ chicken sandwich.'

'So?' Dean groused. 'Caffein's bad for you, and I've put on a few pounds. I'm pushing forty, it's gonna get harder to drop weight from now on, you know?'

'You're thirty-three,' Sam corrected, 'and you just ignored a blonde waitress with an ass shaped like a Georgia peach who was flashing so much cleavage I was afraid she might fall out of her top.'

Dean almost blushed. 'Jesus, Sam, where the hell did you learn to talk about women like that?'

Sam stared, aghast. 'From you, Dean.' 

'Yeah? Well…don't.' He fiddled with the salt shaker. 'It's not polite.'

'Okay,' Sam said, drawing the word out. 'Spill it, Dean.'

'Spill what?'

'Whatever the hell's going on with you the past few days, that's what.'

'Nothin's going on, Sam.'

'Bullshit,' Sam said, reaching across the table to take the salt shaker from his brother so he could get his undivided attention. 'Dean, you took a nap two days in a row—'

'I sleep in the car all the time,' Dean shot back.

'You're hardly eating—'

'Told you. I need to drop a few pounds.'

'—And when you do, it makes you sick.'

'I think I picked up a stomach virus or something.'

'You haven't been running a fever,' Sam countered. 'And now you're ordering healthy food, forgoing beer with dinner, and ignoring the pretty waitress who'd happily give you a lap dance? Come on, Dean, level with me. What the hell's going on? I'm worried. Seriously.'

Dean's hand snapped out and grabbed Sam's, the one still holding the salt shaker. Sam's breath caught up in his throat, and he tried to pull back, but Dean wouldn't let go. He leveled his hard green gaze on his brother and said very quietly,

'Ever think maybe _this_ is what's up with me? That maybe I'm going crazy walking on eggshells around you, trying to remember not to touch you or stand too close. Do you know how hard that is, Sam? Huh? After a lifetime of takin' care of my baby brother…' Dean's voice cracked a little. 'And now I gotta stand by and watch you suffer through whatever it is that's bothering you, and I'm not allowed to do anything to try and take the pain away.'

Sam stared across the table, a little dumbstruck, at the tears pooling in his brother's eyes. He relaxed a little and stopped pulling against Dean's grip. 'Dean, I'm sorry, I—'

Dean let go of his hand and leaned back. 'You know what? Why don't you just get our food to go. I'm not feeling so hot.' He slid out of the booth, carefully keeping his gaze away from Sam's. 'I'm going to wait in the car.'

'Dean, please, I—' Sam tried to apologize again, but Dean was already gone, out the front door and striding across the lot to the Impala.

Sam asked the waitress to pack their food to go and left her an extra tip because he felt a little rotten for the things he'd said about her even though she hadn't heard, especially when she threw in a slice of cherry pie at no charge for, 'when your friend gets to feeling better.' Sam thanked her kindly and took the food out to the car.

Dean was in the passenger seat. Sam hesitated for just a second before sliding in behind the wheel and passing the food across.

'Wow. You must not being feeling good if you're letting me drive,' he quipped, trying to break the tension.

Dean said nothing, just set the food on the floor between his feet.

Sam gripped the steering wheel. 'Dean, I really am sorry. I wish I—'

'Let's just go, Sam,' Dean interrupted. He folded his arms across his stomach. 'I wasn't kidding. I really don't feel well.'

'Yeah, okay.' Sam turned the keys in the ignition. 'Yeah, we'll get you back to the motel. You can lie down or something.'

Dean just nodded and stared out the window.

When they got back to the room, Dean immediately shucked his jacket, toed off his boots, and lay down on the bed nearest the door, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. Sam unpacked the food in the kitchenette and watched Dean from the corner of his eye. 

'Dean, you should eat something,'

'Not really hungry,' Dean mumbled.

'Come on, man. You haven't eaten all day,' Sam pressed.

'Had lunch.'

'Yeah, and you threw it up at the gas station when we stopped half an hour later.' Dean cracked an eye and glared. Sam glared right back. 'You think I didn't notice? So, that really doesn't count. You need to eat, and if this doesn't sound good, then just tell me that does, and I'll go out and get it for you.'

''M fine.' Dean closed his eyes again.

Sam swallowed a sigh of frustration and put the lid back on his salad and stuffed all the boxes in the fridge. He went across the room, started to sit down on his own bed, thought about it for a second, and sat down beside Dean instead. He let out a long, shivery breath and slowly reached out to lay his palm on his brother's chest.

Dean's eyes shot open, but he made no other move, freezing every muscle, like he was afraid he might scare Sam off if he so much as breathed too hard.

Sam closed his eyes, let the full weight of his arm and shoulder press down through his hand. 'Dean, I…I remember.'

Dean unfolded his arms slowly, covered Sam's hand cautiously with one of his own. 'Sam?'

'Well, not _remember_ -remember, more like I just…know,' Sam said softly. His eyes fluttered open to stare at Dean's hand resting over his own.

'What do you 'know,' Sam?'  Dean's stomach was starting to turn because he had a good idea where this was headed, and it scared the shit out of him.

'It's kind of like watching a movie,' Sam continued, still looking at their joined hands. 'Like I know it's not real, so I don't feel any of it, but it still happened. I can still see it happen.'

'What happened, Sammy?'

Sam's gaze lifted to meet Dean's, and it was frighteningly blank. 'I hurt you.'

Dean's fingers curled around Sam's palm. 'Sam, I told you. You didn't hurt me. It was nothing we hadn't done before.'

'No,' Sam said. 'Not here. I'm talking about Hell, Dean.'

'What?' Dean croaked.

'In the Cage,' Sam said, voice scarily calm, 'Lucifer made me hurt you. Again and again. I tried to stop, Dean. I swear I did, but I wasn't strong enough. He just kept at me. All the time. Forever. And I wasn't strong enough to stop, Dean!'

Sam's voice was starting to crack, and his hand shook beneath Dean's. Dean leaned up slowly and took hold of Sam's elbow. 'Sam, it's okay. It was all an illusion. I'm here. I'm okay. Lucifer didn't hurt me. _You_ didn't hurt me.'

'But I did! _He_ did,' Sam insisted. 'In the cemetery.'

'Yeah,' Dean conceded reluctantly. 'But you got a handle on the sonofabitch in the end.'

'I did…I did.' Sam nodded slowly and seemed to relax, but only for a second. 'I should have been able to stop him again, Dean. I should have been able to stop him from making me hurt you.'

Dean sat all the way up, threw caution out the window, and tugged his little brother in close, buried his mouth and nose in the soft hair above Sam's ear and whispered,

'You did when it counted, Sammy. You did. You did really good.' He tightened his hold when he felt Sam shudder against him. 'In the Cage—in Hell—the rules are different, Sam. You were on the Devil's home turf. You didn't stand a chance against that.'

'But I—'

'Shhh. Shhh, Sam. I'm okay. You're okay. The Devil can't hurt either of us now. It's all going to be okay, and you are _not_ going to hurt me,' Dean said firmly.

Sam just nodded into Dean's shoulder and after a few moments, let Dean pull him down to lay beside him on the bed.

'I got you, Sammy,' Dean whispered, as he carded his fingers through Sam's hair, feeling his little brother fall asleep slowly, one muscle at a time giving up, relaxing, and dropping him limp and sleep-heavy against Dean's side. 'I got you, and I'm not letting anything hurt you again.'

——

Dean was pleasantly surprised to find Sam still nestled against his side when the first hazy yellow glow of morning began to lighten the motel room. In his sleep, Sam had sprawled half on top of Dean just like he used to when they were kids and as much as Dean hated to give up the moment, he could already feel the nausea building and knew he had an urgent upcoming appointment in the bathroom. He snaked out from beneath Sam's weight, pausing just long enough to see the tiny frown tug at his little brother's mouth as he curled in on himself in response to the loss of body heat.

This morning's purge session was particularly violent, probably because he'd gone too long without eating anything at all, and he wasn't really surprised to find Sam awake and laying on his side, staring at the bathroom door when he finally came back into the room.

'Still sick?' Sam asked quietly.

Dean went for the coffee pot out of habit, changed course mid-stream and opted for a glass of water instead. 

'Yeah, guess so,' he said between tentative swallows.

Sam frowned and sat up slowly, then just as slowly rose and came across the room. He stood in front of his brother for a pair of heartbeats, almost as though he were asking permission, before he reached out a cautious hand to cup Dean's jaw.

Dean was tired, sick, and stressed from hiding this monumental, life-changing secret, and it all colluded together to fold him up against Sam's broad chest and duck his head down before his baby brother could make out the tears at the corners of his eyes. Sam was momentarily frozen by the out of character reaction, but he recovered well, considering they were only just barely back to touching each other at all, and folded his arms around Dean and pulled him close.

It felt good, so damn good, and Dean could feel himself crumbling, which was not a good thing because Sam needed him to be strong right now. No matter now 'fine' he claimed to be, Sam was broken deeper and in more pieces than Dean had realized, and Wall or no Wall, Sam had more Hell inside his head than anyone should. Dean had first hand experience. He would know.

But right now, being in Sam's arms felt like old times, almost normal, and brought with it the illusion of safety, and for just a moment he had his mouth open to tell Sam the truth. He couldn't do that to his little brother, though. Not yet. The time would come soon enough that the truth couldn't be avoided, but not just yet.

'Dean, seriously. I'm worried,' Sam said quietly. 'We should have you checked out.'

Dean pulled back a little, rocked his head in denial against Sam's chest, before straightening up and pasting on a tired, taut version of he usual sweep-it-under-the-rug smile.

'No. I can shake it, Sam. Just need a couple days to hold still and sleep it off.'

Sam wasn't convinced, but he also know what a sizable concession it was for his brother to even admit that he might need to slow down, so he chalked it up to a win anyway.

'Do you feel like eating anything?' he asked.

'Not really, but I suppose I should anyway,' Dean conceded. 'Keep my strength up and all that crap.'

Sam smiled wryly. 'Wow, you almost sound like a grown up.'

'Shut up,' Dean grumbled, but a smile was playing at his lips. 'I'm gonna get a shower.'

'I'll grab us some breakfast.' Sam went back to the bed to get his boots and rummage Dean's jacket for car keys. 'How about some oatmeal, or some plain eggs? Something bland.'

'Yeah, sure. Whatever they've got, I guess.' Dean waved over his shoulder as he walked into the bathroom.

'Dean?'

'Yeah?' Dean leaned back around the doorframe, shirt rucked up to his ribs in the process of stripping it off.

Sam was sitting on the bed, eyes all earnest in a way that tied Dean's stomach in more knots than it was already in.

'Thanks…for last night,' Sam murmured.

Dean nodded once, not quite trusting his voice, and tugged his shirt the rest of the way off.

'Huh.'

'What?' Dean asked.

Sam smirked as he stood and spun the keys on his finger, gaze traveling up and down his brother's naked torso with a shadow of that old appraising look he used to get just before he threw Dean against the nearest wall, and lingered for a second at his waistline.

'You _have_ put on a few pounds,' he teased.

Dean scowled, balled up his t-shirt and threw it at his little brother's head. 'Bitch.'

Sam snagged the shirt out of the air and laughed. It almost sounded real, like the old Sam, and sent a pleasant shiver down Dean's spine.

'Jerk,' Sam tossed back and slipped out the door still smiling.

 

When Dean got out of the shower, Sam was already back, with a hot, black, dark roast and something that smelled vaguely of maple sugar and cinnamon if his nose was any judge, and he could hear his brother talking to someone through the door.

'Hey, Sam…who is it?' Dean asked, combing his fingers through his still damp hair and rifling his duffle for a mostly clean shirt.

'Bobby,' Sam said.

Shit. Dean's gut clenched. He hadn't expected Bobby to put enough effort into this that it would yield any results this soon.

'Great. Uh…put him on speaker.'

Sam thumbed the speaker on and set the phone on the nightstand between the beds while he set to unpacking breakfast from the paper bag he'd returned with.

'That was quick, Bobby. What'd you find? Anything?' Dean asked with forced nonchalance, hoping there was a way to save this situation if Bobby's research results sent it south.

‘Yeah, somethin’. But it’s weirder than shit.’

‘What is it?’

‘Well, one of those symbols on that bracelet finally clinched it. It's an ancient Haudenosaunee fertility symbol that was created for a very specific purpose as it turns out, and wasn't used before or since in their symbology. I tracked it back to a myth about a famous female Shaman Chief from way back before the tribes split up. She imbued a necklace of some sort or something with the queen mother of all fertility spells. Says the thing was lost or destroyed around the turn of the century.’

Sam cast his brother a sidelong look, 'Yeah, Dean said something about the bracelet being made with authentic ceremonial beads.’

‘Well, sounds like the lost was found and capitalized on,’ Bobby said. ‘Anyway, the thing was used in ceremonies to bless the harvest and such in times of famine or drought. Basically in times of the worst kind of extreme, because this wasn't your average rain dance stuff or anything like that. But it could also be used on people.’ He paused, and Dean watched Sam's whole body go rigid in apprehension. ‘When the European’s came over with their disease and guns and such and started killing off the tribes by the hundreds and thousands, this necklace was used as a kind of last ditch effort to repopulate before they died off completely.’

‘How, Bobby?’ Sam asked. ‘How was is used?’

‘Well, kind of two fold from what I can tell. It made the men horny as all get out, able to mate with more than one woman for several hours before the spell wore off, and the effects were passed to the female in the form of a hundred percent guaranteed pregnancy.’

‘Okay…’ Sam pushed a hand through his hair. It was shaking. Badly. ‘Are there any lasting effects? Do we have anything to worry about here?'

'Well…’ Bobby drew the word out. 'You tell me, I guess.' 

Dean saw the second Sam put it all together, as the last piece clicked into place: the throwing up, the poor appetite, sensitivity to smells…

Sam’s eyes skimmed down Dean’s body and zeroed in on the soft swelling at his waistline.

‘Jesus Christ, Bobby, you cannot be serious,’ Sam whispered. 'It's not possible. Dean said it…wasn't possible.

‘Any port in a storm is kind of how the spell was designed, Sam,’ Bobby said. 'We're talkin' some major mojo stuff here, meant specifically to work in the face of impossibility.'

‘Oh my god.’ Sam leaned over on his knees, gripped the edge of the table and hung his head over the trashcan beside it like he thought he might be sick. ‘Oh my god, oh my god.’

'Sam? Dean?' Bobby paused, almost as if he were able to sense the tension in the sudden silence across the line. 'You boys still with me?'

Sam looked up. His face was ashen, his eyes riveted on Dean's waistline and 'the few pounds' he'd put on.

'How long?' he croaked.

Dean picked up the phone, not letting go of Sam's stark, terrified gaze. 'Bobby, uh, thanks. Let us get back to you.'

'Sure thing. You boys be safe, ya hear?'

'We will,' Dean promised absently. 'And thanks again. We appreciate the help.'

'Anytime,' Bobby assured and then the line went dead.

The ensuing silence was thick and heavy and Dean felt a little dizzy with it. He eased down onto the bed, setting the phone down slow and deliberate.

'Sam—'

'How long, Dean?' Sam's voice was low now and dangerously quiet. 'How long have you known?'

'For sure?' Dean rolled his shoulders in an uneasy shrug. 'A few days…a week at most.'

Sam just stared at him, face going a shade paler if that were even possible. 'Dean, I can't—why didn't you—? Oh my god…'

 Sam slapped a hand over his mouth, trying to hold back a sudden, sharp rise of bile in his throat and bee-lined it to the bathroom. Dean tried to go after him, but got the door slammed in his face and the sound of Sam through it, losing everything he’d eaten in the last twelve hours and then some. 

'Holy hell, Sam…I'm sorry, all right!' Dean flattened his hands against the door, leaning into it. 'I was going to tell you. I swear it. But you were so freaked at first when you thought there was even any possibility of it happening… Man, I was just…trying to figure out the way to do it.'

The only sound from behind the door was Sam retching again. Dean's own stomach rolled, the smell of breakfast and coffee suddenly sour in the air and making him nauseous. He backed up a couple of steps, stumbled back to the end of the bed, and dropped down onto it. He felt dizzy and sick at Sam's reaction.

Sure, he hadn't expected Sam to be thrilled, not at first, and he'd imagined about every scenario there was as to how Sam _might_ react, but he hadn't imagined this. He hadn't even considered that he'd be falling-down-throwing-up terrified about it. Dean leaned on his knees and put a hand to his middle.

'Well, kiddo, that certainly didn't go as planned,' he murmured.

Minutes ticked by and Dean's prolonged silence apparently made Sam more worried than sick or afraid and drew him out of the bathroom. He leaned in the door, arms wrapped around himself.

'You, uh…okay?' he asked, eyes darting down to where Dean's hand was still splayed across his midsection.

'Yeah, 'm fine, Sam.' Dean dropped his hand and reached for a shirt to pull over his head. Fortunately, it was one of Sam's and hung loose on him, disguising the soft, barely perceptible swell of his belly. He wasn't sure if the gesture was one of protection for the baby against his brother's  evident disapproval, or for Sam to try and ease whatever fear was freezing him up so badly.

Sam kicked off the door and went to stand by the rickety old table under the room's one window. The furthest point he could possibly get from Dean.

'Dean, I-I'm sorry—'

'Sam, don't worry about it,' Dean interrupted. 'It's a shock. Believe me, I know. But we'll work it out and—'

'No. Dean,' Sam pulled in a shaky breath, eyes still rigidly fixed on Dean's midsection. 'I'm sorry, I can't…we can't _do_ this.'

Dean's eyes narrowed and he went very still. He was starting to feel lightheaded again. 'Do…what, Sam?'

'This!' Sam threw his hands out, caught between gesturing and shielding himself. 'You can't have that—that thing!'

'What the _fuck_ , Sam!' Dean launched to his feet. 'You may have gotten juiced on a mega-fertility spell, but that doesn't make the result a 'thing.' It's just as much part of you and me as if it was conceived under more…normal circumstance.'

He took a step toward Sam, and Sam jerked back, stumbling and bumping into the wall. He looked about ready to panic.

'You don't get it, Dean. That's just it! It _is_ us. It's _me_! It's—' 

'Sam, you're not making sense. What's going on here? What is it you're so afraid of?'

Sam just stood and shook his head at Dean, hands still up at the defensive. 'G-Get rid of it. Dean, you have to. Get rid of it.'

'Get rid of…' Dean echoed Sam's words, suddenly short of breath. He faltered, reached out for the wall to steady himself. His vision was going grey and his blood roared in his ears in shock at the venom in Sam's demand. 'Sam, I can't…' he pulled in a stuttering breath, blew it out, and fought to keep his focus and stay standing. It was a losing battle as he grappled for a better grip to support himself. 'I can't…talk about this…right now…fuck…'

Dean thumped into the wall, gave in to the weakness in his limbs, slid down it, and put his head between his knees to try and salvage what threads of his consciousness remained.

To his left he heard, dimly under the persistent roaring in his head, the door open and slam shut again, and all he could do then was put his head in his hands and try to hold the tears at bay.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam didn't come back.

Not that night, not the next day. Not for his clothes or weapons or even his computer. He didn't boost a car from the hotel lot or anywhere close by because Dean kept his ear to the ground for word of stolen vehicles and heard nothing. He checked the local bus station, but no one remembered a six-foot-five guy looking pale and distraught and about ready to come apart at the seams. He called Sam's phone, but it went straight to voicemail.

Meanwhile, Dean was forgetting to eat, or sleep, or pretty much do anything in the way of taking care of himself, and worrying himself sick. Not just over Sam and where he was, but about their unborn child and just _what_ it was Sam thought Dean was harboring inside him that had sent Sam so far off the deep end in terror that he'd demand Dean get rid of it. 

He hadn't checked out of the motel yet, hanging onto the frail hope that Sam would return there when he'd had a chance to cool down; but after nearly a week, even Dean, who had every reason to believe in miracles (and their opposites) had to admit there wasn't much chance his brother had any intentions of returning.

'Cas.'

The name slipped past Dean's lips before he could check himself and the angel, for once, appeared a respectful three feet away, near the door, giving the illusion he'd just walked in out of the parking lot. 

'You're getting better at this,' Dean chuckled mirthlessly.

'I do try to pay attention to what you say.' Cas tried to banter back, but when it elicited no response in Dean but a sullen lift of his chin, he changed tacts and cautiously approached the bed.

The first sign of serious trouble to both of them was when Dean didn't dodge the cool, gentle palm Cas placed against his cheek.

'I told you to take care of yourself,' he admonished gently.

'Well, at least I called,' Dean said wryly.

'Involuntarily.'

Dean shrugged and dragged a very shaky hand down his face. Cas reached out and grasped his wrist.

'You need to eat something, and get some rest. When did you last sleep?'

Dean shrugged again. 'I don't know.'

Cas looked around the room, brows drawing together in confusion. 'Where is Sam? I cannot believe he would let you neglect yourself like this. Have you told him about your condition?'

'Yeah,' Dean said, staring straight ahead. He tried to turn his wrist out of Cas' grip, but it only tightened, and he gave up after a moment, too worn out and empty to fight. 'He's gone.'

Cas continued to frown. 'I don't understand. Did he go to get food? Or is he out doing research? Are you here on a hunt? Because you should not be hunting, Dean. Not in your condition. The risk involved—'

'Damn it, Cas!' Dean did wrench his hand free this time. 'He's _gone._ As in 'not coming back.''

Cas stood there still looking bewildered. 'You told him about the baby?'

'Yes.'

'And then he left?'

'Yes.'

'So, he's…gone?'

'Yes!' Dean dropped his face in his hands and rubbed them briefly over the short bristle of his hair. 'Christ, Cas…yes, he left. He just…left.'

'I don't understand,' Cas said again. He sat down beside Dean on the bed. 'Sam would not do this, especially knowing you're pregnant.'

'I sure didn't think so,' Dean sighed heavily.

 'Why would he leave?' Cas asked, and there was an indignant touch in his tone that would have been amusing if Dean had the energy to appreciate it. 

'Fuck if I know,' he mumbled, then sighed again and sat up a little straighter, looking down at himself. Gingerly, he rested a hand at his waist. Despite his barely eating this week, his jeans were already starting to feel a little snug. He'd have to pay a visit to the Salvation Army or a Goodwill soon before they got uncomfortably tight.

'Something's got your daddy runnin' scared, kiddo,' he whispered, 'and I wish to hell I knew what it was.'

Beside him, Cas let out a soft breath. Dean felt himself warm slightly with embarrassment.

'Sorry. It's stupid, I know,' he muttered, drawing his hand away.

'Not stupid,' Cas said firmly, pressing against Dean's arm to keep his hand where it was. 'Surprising. But not stupid.'

Dean nodded slowly. 'There isn't anyone else to talk to right now, and I can't have her thinking—'

'Her?' Cas asked.

Dean shrugged tiredly. 'Yeah, well, I didn't want to call her 'it' and a girl would be…nice.' Cas nodded, smiling, obviously awestruck by this more tender side of his friend. 'Anyway, I can't have her thinking Sam's run off and left us for good. He's just scared.'

'Of what?'

'I don't know, but something about this baby scares the hell out of him, Cas. I mean scares him so bad that his first reaction was to puke his guts up, and then he told me to—to…'

Dean worried at his bottom lip with his teeth, not wanting to even think the words, much less say them. The idea still made him feel queasy and lightheaded.

'Told you to what?' Cas prompted.

'To get rid of it,' Dean said, so quietly that only an angel's hearing would catch it.

'Oh, Dean…' Cas shook his head, sad and astonished. 'I can't believe Sam would say that.'

'If I hadn't heard it, I wouldn't either.' Dean turned slightly, hesitating. 'Cas could you…?' He gestured loosely at himself. 'Check again? Just to…you know. Be sure?'

'Of course.' Cas obliged, spreading his palm wide over Dean's lower abdomen. That same heat Dean had felt before, spread out from beneath the angel's hand, suffusing him with warmth, and he didn't realize until that moment how cold he'd become.

He shivered fiercely and Cas drew back a little.

 'Your baby is well,' he said confidently. 'You, however, are not.'

'I'm fine.' Dean brushed away Cas' concern. 'But it's normal, right?'

'Yes, Dean. Normal. Human. Very much you and Sam,' Cas assured.

'You can tell that?'

'To a degree. The child is created of the two of you, so just as with your human DNA, it also shares elements of your souls.'

'Huh.'

'Dean, there is nothing for you or Sam to worry about,' Cas said. 'I still don't understand what drove him away, but I do know that, right now, you require nourishment and rest.'

'I said, I'm fine,' Dean repeated. He stood up, but listed a little to the side in his weakened state. Cas gripped his arm to steady him.

'Dean, you need rest,' Cas insisted. 'For your baby's sake.'

That got Dean's attention, and he nodded reluctantly.

'Good,' Cas said. 'Now, I will get you something to eat while you take a hot shower. Then you will sleep.'

'Yes, Mom,' Dean chided with the hint of his old smile.

Cas just continued to stare at him sternly, completely missing the reference, or choosing to ignore it. After all they'd been through and all the angel had learned in their time together, Dean couldn't be too sure anymore.

'All right,' Dean conceded and turned for the bathroom. 'Just—nothing fancy, okay?'

Cas nodded, smiling that odd, boyish smile he had when some new and wonderful idea had just occurred to him. 'Okay,' he agreed.

Dean shuddered to think what he might come out to for dinner with the look on that angelic face, but couldn't help his own answering smile despite himself.

——

When Dean woke the next morning, it was late enough that the sun had risen high and brought a soft, diffuse afternoon glow to the room, and he had to admit somewhat sheepishly that he did feel better for the food and the much needed sleep.

He rolled over and stretched long on the bed, bringing his hand down to rest on his middle and rub gently. 'Guess your Uncle Cas was right, kiddo. A good night's sleep was just what the doctor ordered. Or angel, anyhow.'

'I am not technically the baby's uncle, you know.'

Dean started at the voice from beside the bed. 'Jesus, Cas!'

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you, but since I am an angel and not human, I cannot be related to the baby,' Cas said.

'Yes, Cas, I _know_ ,' Dean said. He dragged his hands over his face once and turned to see Cas sitting primly with his hands on his knees on the edge of the adjacent bed. Dean rolled his eyes. At least he wasn't standing in the corner lurking.

'It's a figure of speech, Cas. People use it when they're referring to other people they feel close enough to be family even though the aren't related.'

Cas gave him a quizzical look. 'You wish me to be the baby's family?'

Dean sighed and sat up, getting his feet on the floor. His stomach was already starting to roll with the usual morning sickness despite the afternoon hour.

'Yes, asshat. I do.'

Cas' face broke into a radiant smile. If he hadn't been so innocent, he'd look impossibly goofy. 'I would be honored,' he said reverently.

'Good. Hold that thought,' Dean said, and stood up to head for the bathroom.

When he came back out a few minutes later, Cas was looking very concerned.

'I thought the food and sleep would help. Did last night's dinner not agree with you?'

'No…I mean, yes, it did. Agree. It was fine, Cas,' Dean said. 'Actually, it was great. Thank you for that.'

Dean had been pleasantly surprised when he came out of the shower last night and found that, for once, the angel had _not_ gone over the top and had somehow acquired hot homemade chicken noodle soup with crusty french rolls and hot cocoa. Honestly, Dean had almost teared up at the angel's simple gesture of comfort. The only thing that would have been better was Mary's tomato and rice soup, but then Dean really would have broken down, so it was just as well.

'You are welcome,' Cas answered, still confused. 'But then why were you sick just now?'

Dean started to ladle coffee into the little pot on the counter, but another mild surge of nausea made him think better of it, and opt for hot water over one of the herbal tea bags he found abandoned behind the sweetener packets. If Sam could see him now… Of course, he wasn't going to, and that thought made Dean's head start to hurt again. He shoved it away and focused on Cas' mildly bemused face.

'It's just part of the normal process, Cas you should know that, shouldn't you?'

'Ah,' Cas said, understanding finally dawning. 'Midwifery was not my specialty, but—'

Dean held up a hand. 'Just stop. Right there.'

Cas snapped his mouth shut. Dean finished steeping his tea, puttered around the kitchenette for a few minutes, weighing his lack of appetite against the need to eat something to keep up his energy for the baby's sake. He finally settled on toasting one of the leftover rolls from the night before.

'Coffee?' he offered Cas before coming back to the table with his toast and tea.

'I do not need to eat or drink,' Cas reminded him.

'Uh-huh.'

'Oh. You were trying to be polite,' Cas demurred. 'Uh, thank you, no. I'm fine.'

Dean nodded and sat down.

Cas sat down across from him. 'Dean, did Sam give any indication at all as to why he was so frightened.'

'No.' Dean shook his head. 'I couldn't understand it. It wasn't the _idea_ of the baby—of being a dad—that scared him. I mean, that I would get. Hell, if _I_ think about it too hard, it still scares the crap out of me.

'It was my being pregnant, the actual baby itself, he seemed afraid of. I've never seen him like that before, Cas. Not over anything.'

Dean pushed the last few bites of his toast away. Remembering Sam's terrified eyes and the finality of that door slamming brought back the gnawing desperation of his impending future. Alone. Pregnant. With no clue where Sam was and if he was all right or not. It all sounded like a very bad after-school special.

Cas reached out a tentative hand and covered Dean's.

'And there was no hint of why he felt this way?'

'No.'

Dean absently traced the creases in one of Cas' knuckles with the tip of his finger, frowning in thought.

'The night before,' he said quietly. 'The night before he…found out, he had a-a sort of breakdown, I guess. He said that while he was in the Cage, Lucifer kept forcing him to hurt me, over and over again.' He looked up at Cas, eyes turbulent and angry. 'He shouldn't be able to remember that. Death said he wouldn't. So long as he didn't scratch at the Wall. And, Jesus, Cas, I've been tryin'. Everything I can do to keep him away from those memories, I've done. Some of it could send me away for ten lifetimes if anyone found out.'

'But he _is_ remembering?'

'I don't know,' Dean admitted. 'It seems like it, but he said  it wasn't like that. Not really like he could _feel_ the memories, like he was the person in them, doing those things. He said it was like a movie. Like watching someone else, but he _knew_ it was him even if he couldn't feel it. He was pretty upset about it either way.'

He leaned back, pulling his hand from beneath Cas'. 'Do you think that has something to do with it? That something from his time in Hell is getting through the Wall and causing this?'

'It's possible,' Cas said. 'But Sam is the only one who could answer that, and we don't know where he is.' 

Dean blew out a long, slow breath. 'He's not the only one.'

Cas cocked his head in query. 'Who, then?'

Dean's eyes were sharp and dangerously bright when he answered,

'Death. Death would know.'


	4. Chapter 4

'If there's a spell for summoning Death, Bobby will be able to find it,' Dean said. He folded up the last of Sam's clothes and stuffed them down into his duffle.

'Dean, there are methods to summon the Reapers and even bind them, but no one summons a Horseman. Not even God,' Cas said, handing over the shaving kit he'd collected from the bathroom at Dean's request. 'The only way to talk to Death is to go to him, like you did before, and that is too dangerous now.'

'I'm still calling Bobby,' Dean said, packing the kit and zipping up the duffle.

After a full week of waiting for Sam and two days of rest and recuperation under Cas' surprisingly welcome and attentive care, Dean was ready to be moving, to try and find an answer as to why Sam ran and maybe a clue as to how to get him back.

'Bobby would agree with me,' Cas said.

'Probably so,' Dean answered, pulling his phone out.

Bobby picked up on the second ring. 

'Hey, Bobby.'

'Heya, son. Been waitin' for you to call,' Bobby said. 'How're you doin'?'

'Waitin', huh?' Dean sat down on the bed and rubbed a nervous hand against his thigh. 

'Figured I was only gettin' half the story on the goings-on between you two, for one reason or other. So, I was just waitin' to hear from you on the rest.'

There was a long pause. Dean squirmed a little and then sighed, long and deep. 'You're going to make me say it, aren't you?'

'Yup,' Bobby said, but his voice was absent of anything even close to humor.

Dean closed his eyes, then opened them again, and swallowed thickly.

'I'm pregnant.'

Another pause.

'Thought so,' Bobby finally said. 'How're you doin'?'

'Okay. Considering,' Dean hedged.

'How's Sam? How'd he take the news?'

'Uh, not so well, actually,' Dean stalled, picking at a small tear in the knee of his jeans. 'He's, uh, gone.'

'Gone,' Bobby repeated.

'Yeah. Gone.'

'As in 'run off and not comin' back' gone.'

'Seems that way,' Dean said tightly because all this wasn't helping anything.

'Idgit,' Bobby swore softly. 'Damn fool kid. Can't believe he'd do a thing like that. And no idea where he got to, I suppose.'

'None,' Dean admitted. 'Don't be too hard on him, Bobby. He was scared to death when I told him. I mean throwing-up-scared. That's why I called. Something's got him spooked, and I think it has something to do with his time in the Cage.'

Bobby let out a low whistle. 'And you want to do what about it?'

Dean swallowed again and told Bobby his plan.

'Well that clinches it!' Bobby bellowed. 'You're _both_ damn fools. No. Absolutely not. It was dangerous enough you goin' looking for him the first time to get Sam's soul back, but now? With a baby on the way? Christ, Dean…'

Dean gave a dry laugh. 'Cas said you'd say that.'

'Cas with you?'

'Yeah, he is.'

'Good. Keep you from doin' some damn fool thing like dyin' to have a conversation with the Pale Rider,' Bobby shot back.

'You got any better ideas, I'm all ears.'

'There's spells for summoning and even binding,' Bobby said. 'But they're for Reapers. Ain't a one of 'em gonna get you Death himself. He's on the do-not-call list. I suppose the angel already told you that.'

'Yeah.'

There was a moment or two of silence, then Bobby said quietly, 'Son, don't you go off half-cocked and do somethin' foolish. You've got someone else to think about now.'

Dean rubbed at his eyes with a finger and thumb, breathing deeply against the sudden rise of tears.

'Bottom line, Bobby. I need him on this one,' Dean said. 'I can't—I can't do this alone.'

Bobby sighed heavily. 'I know, son. I know.' He paused and Dean could imagine him shoving back his ball cap and running a frustrated hand through his thinning hair. 'You just be careful, and you call me…anytime, for anything.'

'I will,' Dean whispered.

'And when you find your brother, you boys…you come home, ya hear?' Dean could only nod his head, voice gone under the weight of too many emotions. 'You take care, Dean.'

The line went quiet.

Dean stared at the phone for a long minute before he flipped it closed.

'Dean?' Cas said tentatively. 'Dean, what are you going to do?'

'Need to see a man,' Dean said, standing up and sliding the phone back in his pocket. 'About a Horseman.'

——

Dr. Robert was still above the Chinese butcher shop, and still as looney as ever, except instead of the tall, leggy brunette, he had a short, pert blonde for an assistant this time.

'I don't like this, Dean,' Cas said quietly, from where he stood just behind Dean's shoulder, as his gaze traveled around the room that looked more like a mad scientist's lair from a B-rate horror flick than any kind of doctor's office.

 'I didn't really expect you to,' Dean said. 'You can always wait in the car.'

'No,' Cas said firmly. 'I will remain here with you. Just in case.'

Dean didn't ask, 'Just in case what?' He didn't want to think about it. Truth be told, he was none too comfortable with his own decision, but he couldn't think of anything else to do, except give Sam up for lost and that wasn't an option.

'Well if it isn't Dean Winchester,' the doctor said, coming into the room and giving his assistant a swift pat on the bottom as he passed. 'The man who cheated Death…literally.'

Dean tried not to grind his teeth. He'd never really cared for Robert. The man gave him the creeps, reminding him of a cross between Frankenstein and Igor that went wrong.

'Yup, and I need to do it again,' Dean said.

'All righty then.' Robert rubbed his palms together, and Dean thought a maniacal cackle at that moment would have set the mood perfectly. 'Have you brought an adequate donation?'

Dean dug a roll of twenties out of his coat pocket and held it out. Robert's eyes lit up. He took the roll and tossed it over his shoulder to his assistant, then patted the exam table beside him.

'Up we go.'

Dean hesitated, flushing a little, hands digging deeper in his coat pockets to pull it around him in a belated gesture of protection. 'There's, uh, a hitch this time.'

'A hitch? Other than you dying and coming back? Do tell.'

'I'm pregnant.'

Robert froze, jaw dropping in shock. He looked Dean up and down, intense gaze trying to detect any outward sign of Dean's confession. Dean felt himself color a shade darker pink and squirmed under the unexpected spark of sanity in the doctor's eyes.

'Well, as I live and breathe,' Robert said finally. 'Dean Winchester in the family way. Who'd have thunk it?'

Dean swallowed his frustration. 'Can you still do it? Safely?'

'Can I? Yes. Was it _ever_ safe? Doubtful. Will I do it? Absolutely not.'

Dean blinked. 'Huh?'

'Rosalie, give the man his money back,' Robert said. His face was a blank, as close to sane and serious as Dean had ever seen it. 'I may not have many morals Dean Winchester, but I do have a few left, and I'm not risking the life of an unborn child.'

Dean was speechless. This was a turn he hadn't anticipated. He swallowed again, this time against the desperation he'd been keeping tamped down over the last couple of days under the guise of a solution in this thin hope that the good doctor was effectively dashing. He felt Cas' warm palm flat against his shoulder blade and realized he must have swayed in his shock.

He licked his lips and tried to keep the rising panic out of his voice. 'Look, I don't want to tread all over your moral high ground or anything, but this is a kind of 'only option' sort of deal, and—'

'If I can guarantee the child will be safe, will you do it?' Cas interrupted.

Dean's head twitched at Cas' statement, but he gave no other outward sign of his surprise.

Robert's eyes narrowed. 'And who are you?'

'I am Castiel, angel of the Lord,' Cas said, chest puffing out just a little.

Robert's eyebrows did a slow climb to his hairline and he looked over at Dean for confirmation.

'What he said.' Dean tossed a thumb over his shoulder. 'Bona fide angel. Bring people back from the dead. All that sort of stuff.'

Which wasn't strictly true, and Dean knew it. Cas had brought Bobby back from the dead at the cemetery outside Lawrence, but he'd been channeling a power beyond himself by his own admission and had performed no such miraculous feats since then.

Robert still wasn't convinced. He eyed Cas skeptically. 'I've got this disc in my back. Been out for years—since a Wendigo tossed me off a ledge up in Minnesota. Ended my active hunting days, that one. Inoperable without the possibility of nicking the spinal cord. Nasty business—'

Cas' disregard for personal space sometimes played to his advantage. He was across the space and had one one hand on the doctor's shoulder, holding him in an unshakable grip and the other touching two fingers to the center of his forehead before Robert could even register him moving and draw breath to protest.

 Robert jolted a little. Dean knew the feeling, like being hit with ten tons of bricks at the business end of an electric conduit, but when Cas drew his hand back, Robert shook it off and gave his spine an experimental twist and then side to side bend, eyes slowly widening in awe.

'I have repaired the damage to your liver as well,' Cas offered. 'And your arthritis should not give you anymore problems.' 

'Well, there goes drinking myself into early retirement,' Robert sighed. 'All right, Winchester, you've got yourself a round trip ticket to the land of the dead. I'll get my stuff.'

'Dean sighed in uneasy relief and moved to take off his coat and boost himself up onto the table. He looked at Cas long and hard and asked quietly,

'Can you do that? Make that guarantee?'

Cas shook his head. 'You know I cannot. Please, Dean. Reconsider this.'

Dean took a deep breath and laid back. 'You know I can't,' he whispered.

Cas nodded reluctantly. 'Then I will do what I can. I will hold the soul here for what time my power permits, but it will not be long.'

'Got it,' Dean said, settling onto the table as Robert came back in the room. His eyes flicked up as the doctor loomed over him. 

'Let's do this.'

——

When Dean opened his eyes, he was not wholly surprised to fine a familiar face.

 'Tessa.'

'Dean.' She unfolded from the wall where she was leaning, her gaze going straight to his middle. 'You shouldn't have done this. You're taking an awful risk. The angel can only hold her for so long.'

'So it is a girl,' Dean said with a tiny smirk, and the Reaper rolled her eyes on an exasperated sigh. 'Good to know.'

He rubbed a hand across his belly. It felt odd, like he had a tiny hot ember burning deep inside him, and it was being tugged steadily toward his spine.

'It's because the angel is holding on,' Tessa explained. 'He's holding her alive while the rest of you is dead. You won't be able to go far, and you don't have long.'

'Are you here to help?' Dean asked. 'Or just lecture me on how dumb I'm being.'

Tessa arched a brow. 'Always such a smart ass. I really don't know what he sees in you.' She tilted her chin in the direction of the door. 'Come on. He's downstairs waiting.'

'Here?' Dean was more than a little shocked. 'He's here?'

Tessa motioned him toward the stairs. 'Apparently, when Dean Winchester calls, Death answers,' she said wryly.

'I'm not sure that's a good thing,' Dean muttered as he passed her.

He stopped at the landing and reached for the wall, grimacing. The hot spark in his belly felt cooler and the further he went down, the harder that funny tug toward his spine was to pull against. It made him feel a little sick. 

He put a hand to his stomach. 'Feels…weird. And not in a good way.'

'I told you, it's the angel,' she said. 'The harder you pull, the more dangerous this gets. So, whatever you want from him, I suggest you make it quick.'

Death was indeed waiting, leaning nonchalantly against the meat counter, a large dill pickle wrapped in white paper in one hand and, what Dean strongly suspected would prove to be a strawberry milkshake, in the other.

'You know, pickled vegetables used to be a staple of the human diet. A virtual necessity if you wanted to store food for any period of time. Very few have stood the test of time, though, except this…the pickled cucumber. So popular, it has become simply known by that process which creates it. A pickle.'

Death leveled his hard, infinite gaze on Dean. 'I understand  expectant parents often have cravings for pickles, combined with other things.' He held up the presumed milkshake. 'Ice cream, for instance.'

Bingo.

Dean rubbed at his stomach again and fought down a surge of nausea, shaking his head. 'Wouldn't know. I haven't gotten to that point yet.'

Death bent a look on him that might have been sympathetic on anyone more…human. 'Feeling a little sick, are we?'

Dean glared at him.

Death set aside the pickle and milkshake, took up his cane and came closer, looking Dean up and down. 'I should think so, really. You and that angel. Always trying the impossible. Dean Winchester…who just can't accept the idea he can't have his cake and eat it, too.'

'Can we quit with the food metaphors? I get it. I'm stupid, and rash, and—'

'Not stupid,' Death said sharply. 'But ever the thorn in my side, trying to bend all the rules.'

'Look, I just need to know—'

'Even water eventually eats away stone, Dean,' Death said solemnly.

'Huh?'

Death strolled a few feet away and turned, fixing Dean with an intent stare. 'That wall I built should have lasted your brother's lifetime and then some. It wasn't strong enough to stand forever, true, but long enough that Sam should never have remembered a thing.

'He's been scratching, Dean. Hasn't he? It's the only stipulation I made: don't scratch at the Wall. But you two can't even follow that.'

Dean wasn't too surprised the Horseman had jumped right to the heart of the matter. He was a god in his own right, or sorts anyway. It followed that he knew better what Dean wanted than Dean did himself.

'No, he hasn't been scratching,' Dean retorted. 'I haven't been letting him. I know how important it is.' His voice went soft. 'Especially now.'

That look of almost sympathy appeared again. 'Water and rock, then.'

'What? What does that mean?' Dean asked, confused. He moved over to the meat case slowly, leaning covertly against the glass. The room was starting to tilt a little, and he was having to fight that fierce tug in his spine that was urging him to turn and run back up the stairs.

'Given enough time and depending on the strength of the current, even water can eat away rock,' Death explained. 'Sam's soul is very strong. A veritable hurricane.'

Death leaned on his cane a moment, considering, and then came closer, almost nose to nose with Dean. 

'The Wall is wearing away, Dean,' he said quietly. 'And your time is running out.' He put a finger under Dean's chin and lifted it. Dean had to bite back a groan as the room shifted with even that small movement. 'Or more accurately, your child's time.'

Death shook his head and clucked his tongue twice. 'Much as I like your company, Dean, I'm not in the mood for a two-for-one today. It's time for you to go.'

Dean braced himself, already feeling his surroundings starting to fall away under Death's influence.

'No, wait!' He shot out a hand to grab Death's wrist, but met with only air and mist. 'Please…I just need to know where he is.'

'That, I do not know.' Death answered, and his words sounded far off like from a fading dream. 'But if the Wall has come down, Dean, there is no point in searching for him. There will be nothing of the brother you know left to find.'

——

Dean came awake with a gasp and curled around the sharp cramp in his belly.

'Dean?'

Cas was beside him, leaning on the table, looking a little pale and haggard himself. When Dean could breathe again, he cracked an eye, looked up at the angel, and asked,

'The baby?'

'The baby is fine,' Cas said. 'How are you?'

Dean pulled in a couple of deep, even breaths and the cramping in his middle faded. He flopped back on the table and stared up at the ceiling, blinking tears from his eyes.

'I'll live,' he croaked out.

'And Sam? Did Death know where he was?'

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, the Horseman's words echoing in his ears,

_If the Wall is down, there will be nothing of the brother you know left to find._

'He's gone, Cas,' Dean whispered, broken and harsh. 'He said he's gone.'


	5. Chapter 5

The snow was flying by the time Dean made it to South Dakota. 

He'd taken the circuitous route, driving backroads and blind highways leading nowhere in particular for miles and hours on end from one side of the country to the other. Sometimes he drove straight through the night and slept out the daylight hours hunched down in the driver's seat or in a motel if the mood struck him to stop when one was nearby.

Cas stayed with him the whole time, a silent reminder from the shotgun seat that Dean had other responsibilities besides himself now, with his frequent anxious looks from the other side of the car, but he held his tongue. After all, even an angel could die at the end of the right blade, and in this kind of mood, Dean Winchester was not to be pushed.

He did eventually wear out, from lack of food and lack of sleep, and finally crashed so hard that he was forced to hand the keys to his Baby over to Cas to get them to the nearest motel in Nowhere, Washington state.

Cas got them a room and gently maneuvered Dean from the car to the bed where he slept for twelve hours straight, then to a hot shower and shave, and then in front of a mirror.

Dean could barely look at himself. His face was thin and gaunt, eyes smudged by dark circles underneath, cheeks almost hollow. His shoulders stuck out, boney and sharp, despite being hunched in something that too closely resembled defeat. The rest of him was just as thin and worn away. Except his belly. Despite his lack of attention to eating or taking in any kind of sustenance, his midsection had still swelled with the child inside him. It was by no means a healthy roundness like it probably ought to have been since he was pushing four months along,  and it looked odd, protruding from beneath his ribcage where he could nearly count each bone through his skin now.

Cas stood behind him in the doorway, watching him in the mirror without saying a word. He didn't need to. The worry and hurt in his eyes said enough. Dean shook his head, dropped his gaze from the mirror, and leaned on the sink.

'I know,' he said, voice rusted and graveled from disuse. He dragged a hand down his face. 'I know.'

They stayed at the motel three more days while Dean did pretty much nothing but sleep and eat. On the fourth day, he turned the Impala toward Sioux Falls. 

Cas stayed until they reached Bobby's sometime around midnight, where he vanished with a softly spoken good-bye and a flutter of wings just before the porch light spilled a pool of warm, yellow on the drive.

Bobby came out to stand on the steps, taking Dean's duffle from him after he got it out of the trunk. 

'Got the room upstairs all ready for you,' he said quietly and held the door open for Dean to go in the house. Dean cast a long look over his shoulder at the Impala where her cooling body was already starting to collect swirling flakes from the air. He had a strange pit in his stomach that felt like something was ending, like he was turning his back on something he shouldn't.

Bobby put a warm, heavy hand on his shoulder. 'I'll find her a warm spot in the garage tomorrow, and we'll get the rest of your gear brought in.'

Dean nodded then and turned inside.

Upstairs, Bobby motioned Dean past the usual bedroom he and Sam had always stayed in and on down the hallway.

'Keep goin', down to the end,' Bobby said.

Dean stopped in the door to the master bedroom. Bobby had been hard at work since Dean had called him yesterday. The room had been excavated of its stacks of books and papers and hunting paraphernalia that recalled cluttering every free inch of space, cleaned and swept within an inch of its life, and the drawers and closet emptied.

Dean put a hand out and gripped the door frame. 'Bobby, I can't. It's your room, and…' His eyes got stuck on the big king size bed in the middle of the room, and he had to swallow twice in order to speak past the lump in his throat. 'I don't need— He's not coming…' He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut against the heat of tears. 'He's gone, Bobby. He's not coming back.'

'So you said,' Bobby replied quietly. 'But me? I like to be prepared. Just in case.' He patted Dean's shoulder and set his duffle down inside the door. 'It's damn good to see you, son. Now, you get some rest, and we'll talk in the morning.'

Dean nodded, but stayed in the doorway a few minutes more even after Bobby went back down the hall to the old guest room and closed the door. Finally, he took a deep breath, swiped at his eyes and stepped inside. He kicked his duffle in far enough to close the door with a soft click and then shrugged out of his leather coat and turned to hang it on the hook on the back of the door.

That's when he saw it.

The angle of the open door and the big oak armoire had blocked it from his view when he was standing in the hallway.

Old, but obviously well loved, cut and carved from cherry wood, simple and solid with no fuss, the cradle sat in the corner nearest the bathroom where the light from a cracked door would be just enough to see to change a diaper or sit for a midnight feeding. The bedding was plain white eyelet with no frills or ruffles and there was a small stack of blankets neatly folded in the middle of the mattress.

Dean clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob and stumbled backward to drop down on the end of the bed. He sat and stared at the little piece of furniture for a long time, silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

'Jesus, Sammy, if you could just…' Dean swiped at his eyes again and then slowly smoothed his hand over the low swell of his middle. 'God, kiddo, I wish your daddy was here. I really do.'

As if in answer to his need for comfort, the baby fluttered under his palm. He'd been feeling it for  a few days, the occasional flutter of movement inside, like bubbles effervescing and tumbling against each other. He couldn't feel it against his palm, the movements were till too soft for that, but now that he was finally paying attention to the right things, it felt amazing nonetheless.

He stroked gently over the swell again and then squeezed lightly like to give the baby a hug, and whispered,

'We're gonna be okay, sweetheart. You and me. We're gonna be okay.'

Now, if he could only bring himself to believe it.

——

Dean rose the next morning to the smell of waffles and maple syrup.

He got up, got showered and shaved and dressed, because he'd done enough moping, and Cas had made him realize that even if he didn't feel like doing it for himself, he had someone a lot more important to take into consideration now.

Bobby was topping off a stack of waffles and setting them in the middle of the table by a pitcher of orange juice when Dean came down to the kitchen and leaned in the doorway, arms crossed low over his chest.

He was hiding, pure and simple. He could admit that. So far, Cas had been the only person Dean knew to see him pregnant, and most of the time he'd been in his coat around anyone else, so his condition wasn't obvious. But his belly was big enough now to press out against his flannels when they were buttoned and there was really no mistaking anymore, standing here in the broad light of day, that he was anything but pregnant.

Bobby gave him a casual once over, taking in his expanding waistline, but also his pallor, the circles still under his eyes, and the general overall thinness of the rest of him.

'You look like a rail, boy,' he said finally. 'Damn angel ought to have been good for something. Didn't he make sure you ate? Take him over the coals the next time I see him.'

'It's not his fault, Bobby. He tried hard. I just wasn't being very…agreeable.'

'That I can believe,' Bobby huffed and turned off the waffle iron. 'Well, don't just stand there gawkin'. Sit your butt down and eat.'

Dean did as he was told, and they ate for a few minutes in companionable silence before Dean cleared his throat and asked,

'The, uh, cradle, Bobby…? Where'd it come from?'

'Jody brought it over for you when I told her you were in a family way. Now, don't give me that look, boy,' Bobby raised a fork and stabbed it in Dean's direction to forestall his objections. 'I'm no Gossiping Gerty, and you know that. Jody's good people. Anyway, it belonged to her mom and her, and she used it with her son, but now that she doesn't have any…' He stumbled a little over the sore memory of that awful night Sam had to shoot poor little Owen, killing him a second time. 'She wanted you to have it.'

'I'll have to thank her,' Dean said softly. 'It's real nice. But Bobby, I don't expect you to put me—us—up here. The way you've given up your room and… It means a lot, Bobby, but I can't mooch off of you like that.'

'Hell, son, you ain't moochin' offa nobody,' Bobby said, shoving at his ball cap. 'You'll pull your weight around here same as you've always done doin' whatever you can manage. But you're gonna need time to get your feet under you when the little one gets here, and no one should be alone while—'

Bobby cut himself off with a small hissed curse as Dean turned his face away, jaw clenched tight. 

'Dean. I only meant that I want you to understand, even though you ain't blood, you're the closest thing to family I got, and you're welcome here for as long as you want or need to stay.'

'Thanks, Bobby,' Dean murmured. 'I appreciate that.'

Bobby sniffed once, grumbled something under his breath about old softies and then said gruffly, 'Well, like I said, nothin' comes free. So, you can start by clearin' up the breakfast dishes while I make a place in the garage for your car. Then this afternoon, you can help me with some research.'

Dean nodded and gave his best effort at a genuine smile.

 

And that's how the days went.

November ticked by into December, keeping them mostly indoors under a constant blanket of snow. Bobby kept Dean busy with a list of light chores in the morning and research in the afternoons; and if Dean's growing belly was starting to tax him enough that he began taking regular catnaps in the rocker that had mysteriously appeared shortly after his arrival, then neither he nor Bobby made mention of it aloud.

They took turns fixing dinner, and Jody often joined them. It pinched at Dean's heart and made him happy at the same time to see how Bobby and Jody had grown closer after the last year or so. Jody, for her part, very unobtrusively kept adding to Dean's collection of baby supplies. They traded quiet smiles, understanding each other's losses and the pain that still lingered no matter how much time passed. Dean determined that after the baby came he would find a proper way to thank her for her kindness and generosity.

The world started gearing up for Christmas in December and so did Bobby. He and Jody cut down a small tree on a large piece of land she owned with a cabin outside of town, and set it up in the corner of the den. They decorated it mostly with lights and a few gold balls. Bobby hung some plain evergreen wreaths on the doors and from the front porch banister, but that was about it. The season reminded them all too much of what they'd lost and sacrificed rather than what they had, and most of those memories were still too close and sharp edged to be thought of fondly.

Christmas itself passed quietly. Jody fixed a small ham with baked potatoes and green bean casserole. Bobby mixed up some eggnog and a special non-alcoholic batch for Dean. They spent the evening with homemade peach pie, ice cream, and bad B-rate horror flicks on Sam's laptop. 

As winter deepened into January and pushed on toward February, Dean was surprised at how settled he felt and it wasn't just because of his advancing pregnancy. He wasn't getting his usual seasonal itch or cabin fever, and he really didn't even miss hunting, but maybe that was because he still felt he was contributing his and Sam's collected knowledge by helping Bobby and other hunters in the field out with research.

The only thing that still bothered him was Sam.

His brother's loss (and he had finally come to think of it in those terms) was still a barely healed wound that twinged at random moments when sparked by old memories, and full-out ached when he was brave enough to focus his attention on the gaping absence in his life.

After nearly three months, there were still nights Dean couldn't face the big empty bed in his room upstairs and slept in the rocker by the fire instead. He would inveritably wake to a blanket having been spread over him and Bobby's sad but understanding smile over a mug of coffee the next morning.

It was one such evening that Dean was still lingering in front of the fire with one foot propped on the hearth and the other gently rocking him back and forth, late enough that he knew he wouldn't be making the trip upstairs to face that bed tonight, and was dozing a little when Bobby came stomping through the front door.

He shook snow off his cap and brushed it out of his beard and shifted a paper bag on his hip so he could reach out and grab another two off the porch.

'Got Jody home safe and sound,' he said. 

Dean cracked an eye and smiled. 'Don't let _her_ here you say that. That Jeep of hers would have made better tracks in this weather than your old pick-up, and you know it.'

Bobby scowled at him and slammed the door shut with his foot. 'Well, they're already callin' this one the Big Valentine's Storm of ought-eleven in town. Think I got the last couple loaves of bread in a twenty mile radius. There was a line up at the gas station, too, but I got enough to run the generator for at least a week if needs be. I pulled it around back, so we should be set if the power goes out.'

Dean nodded and glanced out the window. The porch light wasn't offering much in the way of illumination through the thickening flakes and only succeeded in casting odd, long, almost man shaped shadows off into the night.

'You and Jody at least have a nice dinner?' he asked.

Bobby paused in carrying the bags to the kitchen. 'Uh, yeah, it was…nice.' He opened a cupboard with a bang and changed the subject. 'Wind's already pickin' up. It's really startin' to come down. Might be something to this storm after all.'

Dean looked through the entryway to the kitchen and Bobby's determinedly turned back. 

'Bobby, you don't need to do that. I'm okay. I'm happy for you two.' 

'Yeah, well…'Bobby continued to stack cans of vegetables. 'You eat somethin'?'

'Yes, Bobby.' Dean rolled his eyes. 'I can take care of myself you know, and if you keep feeding me like you have been, I'm gonna be as big as a house by the time this baby gets here.'

'Yeah, well,' Bobby grumbled again. 'Couldn't've told it by the shape you showed up in, and you could still afford to put on a couple of pounds. How's our sweetheart, anyway? She behavin' this evening?'

'Dean let the admonishment and change of subject ride with a small smile.

'Well, if she's not on the Olympic tumbling team but the time she's three, then I don't know a carburetor from a camshaft,' he said, and rubbed at a spot on his belly that he would lay down good money the baby kicked just to prove his point.

'She causin' a commotion?' Bobby asked, grinning like a fool over his shoulder.

Over the last weeks, Dean had taken solace in the fact that even if he lacked in any kind of appropriate enthusiasm over his daughter's impending birth because of lingering heartbreak, Bobby was more than making up for it. There were days Dean swore the man held longer conversations with his unborn child than he did with her father, and the only fitting word to describe the doting uncle the first time he'd felt her kick was 'giddy.'

'Just a bit,' Dean said and shifted in the rocker in hopes a new position may coax her to settle. 'I think she—'

There was a sharp knock at the door.

Then came another. A pause. And then a series of softer knocks.

A pattern.

A pattern Dean recognized.

He blanched.

Bobby went very still, recognitions flickering sharply in his own eyes as he glanced, first at the door, and then to Dean.

'Dean, don't—'

The knock came again. Same pattern. Same varied intensity.

Bobby grabbed his shotgun, cocked it, and swung the door open to a gust of cold and snow and wind.

Dean couldn't see who was in the door, or Bobby's face, but he didn't need to. His heart was beating rapid-fire in his chest and the flames in the hearth were suddenly not nearly enough to warm away the chill in his blood. Every cell in his body pulled toward the person in that doorway, like they were a compass needle and the visitor magnetic north.

And yet he couldn't find the breath to get his brother's name past his frozen lips.

Sam looked taller, standing in the tiny entryway, though Dean didn't see how that was possible. He couldn't make out his face very clearly, backlit as he was by the kitchen with only the firelight to trace his features, but it looked like his hair was a little longer and he had a beard now, neat and closely trimmed.

He said nothing, just stood there with his hands at his sides (bare in this cold, the stupid fool), staring at Dean where he sat unable to get his knees to cooperate and lift him out of the rocker. He took a step forward, but Bobby grabbed his shoulder in an iron grip, whipped out his silver flask of holy water, and shoved it under Sam's nose.

'Bobby, I just walked across your salt lines and a Devil's trap.'

Dean shivered at the thick, whisky-smooth sound of that voice.

'I don't give a damn,' Bobby said, deadly quiet. 'You ain't goin' _near_ him unless you do.'

Sam's eyes flicked to Dean, and Dean let himself believe he saw a flash of desperate need in them before he convinced himself in the same breath that it was just a trick of the firelight.

Sam took  a long, deep swig from the flask and handed it back to Bobby with an earnest look. Bobby looked like he wanted to strangle the kid in a hug then, but he cast a concerned glance at Dean and then slowly backed off into the kitchen, leaving the two men alone.

'Dean.'

That  single syllable held inside it the sounds of love and longing, fear and forgiveness—or the asking of it—and Dean had never in his life heard anything more longed for or wonderful. His blood thrilled to it and begged his body to move, but the weakness of disbelief and so many months of suffering under the knowledge that he would never again see his brother alive and sane held him frozen in his half-casual pose by the fire. Only the creak of old wood as one hand tightened on the arm of the rocker gave away his tension.

Sam came into the room slowly, as if he were unsure of his reception, or just as leery of this reality right now as Dean was. He circled around in front of the fire and stood there limned in golden light that Dean could now see clearly reflected in eyes that were as beautiful, but clearer and less troubled than he remembered them. He let out a silent breath of relief at that.

Sam's eyes skimmed him, then circled back up to take a slower path, absorbing every feature of his brother's face like he wanted to commit it to memory on the spot, or verify it against what he already knew. He lingered on the now prominent swell of Dean's belly, and Dean could see his throat work as he swallowed hard, but when he caught Sam's gaze again there was more awe there than fear, and that made something tightly wound in Dean's heart, that he had not even noticed until now, start to loosen.

'Dean.'

Sam knelt on the floor at Dean's feet, sitting there on his haunches for the space of a few slow breaths and then very slowly lifted a hand to lay it with the lightest touch against the curve of his brother's belly.

It was then that Dean broke. The tears came up in a choking rush, and he clapped one hand over his mouth, the other curling even tighter around the wood of the rocker. He shook his head, a few sharp jerks of denial.

'Sammy, please…if this isn't— If I' dreaming— If I wake up, and this isn't real, I won't make it. I won't make it, Sam. I won't…'

'Shhhh,' Sam soothed and lifted his other hand to cover Dean's on the arm of the chair. He gently rubbed at the back, then carefully pried his fingers loose until he could fit his hand underneath and hold his brother's tightly. 'You're not dreaming, Dean,' he whispered. 'I'm here, flesh and blood. Really me. I swear it.'

Dean's fingers curled involuntarily around Sam's, gripping so hard he felt bones grind together, but Sam made no sound of complaint, only returned his grip steadily.

'Sam, why? Why did you…?'

'Shhh,' Sam hushed him again and shook his head. 'Not now. Not right now. Just know that…I know there is no amount of apologizing that can make up for what I've done. What I've missed…' He gave a little stretch of his fingers against Dean's middle, and Dean couldn't help the gasped sob that escaped his lips. Sam dipped his head and continued, soft and contrite, 'And know that I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere.'

Dean couldn't move, couldn't do anything but sit and shake his head in disbelief—maybe a little in denial—that this could be happening right now. It was too much to process. The last three months of his brother's absence came into sudden sharp focus, and he felt like he was being pierced through the heart very slowly but one of his own best hunting knives. He could hardly draw in a breath, and the baby chose that moment to kick hard in objection to his heightened stress, knocking the air out of him on a soft groan.

'Dean?' Sam leaned forward, hand tightening on his brother's.

'Sam, I…'

'It's late.'

Bobby was suddenly there in the room, poised in the door like a trained guard dog, alert to the tension in the air.

'Your brother needs his rest, Sam,' Bobby said in that brook-no-arguments tone he had used on the two of them since before they could walk. 'Why don't you boys go on upstairs to bed.'

Sam gave Dean a questioning look, that oh-so-familiar arch pulling upward between his brows that sent another shaft of painful wanting through Dean's heart. He nodded slowly, and Sam got to his feet. When Dean moved to lever himself from the rocker, he felt Sam's hands on his arms, lifting carefully, giving him something to pull against. That simple gesture drove another surge of tears up Dean's throat, and he sucked in a quick breath.

'Dean?' Sam asked again, flickering eyes full of concern.

Dean swallowed and waved him off. 'I'm okay, Sam. It's just…'

He didn't know how to voice what it was, how to tell Sam how good his touch felt and at the same time how much it hurt. How to tell him that all he wanted to do was walk into Sam's arms and stay there forever, and at the same time how he couldn't trust that those arms would be there to hold him tomorrow.

He felt himself being turned toward the stairs, guided as easy as he and Sam had always stayed in step with one another, moving like one body with a single purpose.

'All the way down the hall, son,' Bobby said softly to Sam as he passed by. 'Sleep well. And Sam?'

'Yessir?' Sam paused.

'It's damn good to have you back.'

Sam nodded, biting at the slight quiver of his bottom lip, and followed Dean up the stairs.

Dean went straight to the bed and sat down. His knees felt like jelly, his heart was still pounding, his head was starting to ache with the overwhelming knowledge of how his world had just been turned on its ear—again—and the baby was taking serious offense at his upset, kicking hard enough to actually cause him pain and making it damn difficult to get his breathing back under control.

'Shh, shhh, hey, sweetheart,' he crooned, rubbing his palm in broad circles over his belly. 'Settle down. Papa's fine. I promise.'

A small, strangled sound from the door brought Dean's head up. Sam was standing there staring at him, a hand cupped over his mouth, eyes wide and shining in the dim light, tears quivering on his lower lashes. Dean felt his own eyes sting in response. Dammit! But if being pregnant wasn't turning him into a chick at moments like this.

'Sammy, don't…don't look at me like that,' he whispered.

Sam shook his head and dropped his hand. 'How can I not, Dean? When I…left, you were…but now you're all filled out and…' His words failed him on a choked off sob.

Dean looked away. 'Yeah, little freeloader's ruined my girlish figure,' he joked harshly.

Sam came forward and dropped to his knees again, ducking down a little to force Dean to look him in the eye. 'What she's done is make you beautiful,' he said earnestly.

Dean swallowed, eyes flashing wide. 'She? Sam, how did you—?'

Sam shook his head. 'Not now. Not tonight, Dean.'

'But we need to—' Dean tried again, but Sam's warm, broad palms were on his thighs now, calluses rubbing, rasping softly on the warm denim. He breathed out on a low moan of pleasure as Sam pushed his hands higher and the back of his thumbs grazed his belly. Sam paused fractionally, then repeated the stroke. Dean knew it shouldn't feel so good, just this simple touch. He knew he needed to get his body and his hormones under control. There were a million things they needed to talk about before they got to this step, but he couldn't make his mouth move around any meaningful sounds other than tiny, needy puffs of air when Sam turned his hands over and cupped the weight and curve of Dean's belly and lifted it, just a little. He rubbed his palms up the sides to meet at the top, paused, and then smoothed down the front very slowly.

'So beautiful,' Sam murmured. 'Want to see you, Dean. Want to touch you.'

He worked at the buttons of Dean's shirt and then pushed his hands under the fabric, and Dean groaned at the feel of bare skin on skin.

'Sammy, did you…put on that damn bracelet again?' he asked, breathless. It was meant to be funny, but it came out desperate. 'Because if this is… If this isn't the real deal, and you freak out on me again. Sam, I can't. I just can't.'

Dean shook his head helplessly, and Sam leaned forward to press his lips above the spot where Dean's belly button was just beginning to push outward. 'No bracelet,' he whispered, breath warm across Dean's bare skin, making him shiver with need despite the thousand misgivings tumbling around in his head. 'And no freaking out. I promise.'

Sam smoothed his hands again over the round curve of Dean's swollen middle and then dropped them to his thighs, spreading his fingers wide and rubbing with his thumbs along the inseam of his jeans, following it up to Dean's groin.

He circled the pads of his thumbs against the taut fabric, dipping low to brush across his scrotum and then swiping up along the tight, hard curve of his arousal. He urged Dean's knees further apart and scooted in closer and cupped his whole hand against the hard bulge in his brother's jeans. He kneaded and squeezed and rubbed until Dean was groaning and giving little pushes of his hips and had his fingers tangled in the shoulders of Sam's shirt.

'Sam, I—'

'Lay back,' Sam said softly.

Dean shook his head. 'Can't—can't lay on my back anymore, now,' he huffed out.

Sam nodded his understanding and moved in a flash to tug down every pillow from the top of the bed and create a fluffy slope for Dean to lean against. On his knees again, he gripped the insides of Dean's thighs and kneaded his way up to the bulge at his crotch again. He leaned forward and pressed his cheek to the heat and hardness of his brother's retrained flesh and nuzzled, breathing warm and damp through the thick material until Dean was helplessly rolling his hips upward, wanting more. With deft fingers, Sam flicked Dean's zipper down and rolled his cheek to press his lips against the thin, soft cotton barrier of his boxers that were already wet with Dean's wanting.

Dean flailed against the quilt, fingers looking for purchase, somewhere to twine and grab and anchor himself, because this couldn't be real. None of it could be real. He was still downstairs in  that rocker, warm in front of the fire, moaning in his sleep as his mind played this most cruel and treacherous game with him.

He had to be.

Except that Sam's soft, hot mouth pressing again and again to the hard ridge of his swollen cock felt real enough that he moaned with it, saying his brother's name over and over like a prayer.

'Sam. Sam. Sammy. Jesus…'

Sam's teeth caught at the thin fabric of Dean's boxers and gave a swift tug, freeing his cock to stretch against the low curve of his belly. Then there was Sam's mouth again, and his tongue, curving against Dean's rigid flesh and licking long, slow strokes up to his weeping cock-head where he suckled softly, licking with the tip of his tongue until Dean whimpered and writhed and pushed himself against Sam's sweetly puckered lips, trying to gain entrance to his hot, wet mouth.

Sam's hands roamed back to Dean's belly where he circled and stroked steadily while he slowly, so slowly, opened his mouth and went down on his brother.

Dean sucked in a huge breath, back arching, pushing his belly into Sam's hands. Sam hummed and cupped his tongue just so and thrust it against the underside of Dean's cock, scooping upward at the last and gliding the tip all around and under the crown.

'Sammy…' Dean groaned and fisted the pillows beneath him, rolled his hips to push his cock hard against the back of Sam's throat. Sam just hummed again and swallowed him down. 'Sam, I can't…'

Dean could feel the white hot tension of hi orgasm coiling deep and hard, the pleasure rising and swamping him, carrying him away on the back of a raging tide to a point-of-no-return that arrived in a sudden burst of white hot fire on the tip of his brother's tongue as he licked into the wet slit of his cock and moaned at the taste of him. It flared in his groin and tendrilled through his limbs like the aftershocks of a lightening strike, leaving him burned-out and hollow and weak.

He had no idea he was crying until he felt Sam's warm, dry palms against his cheeks wiping away tears and heard his voice whispering the soft nonsense of comfort. Strong arms curled around his shoulders and lifted him up on the bed.

'Dean…shhhh… It's all right. Everything's all right.'

Dean felt the quilt pulled up around him and pried open tired, bleary eyes to search out his brother's face. He reached blindly, half expecting to meet nothing but empty air and empty promises made inside empty dreams.

'Sam, don't go.'

A weight settled beside him under the quilt and his searching fingers found the hem of Sam's shirt. He gripped it and held on like it was the only real thing in the world. Sam's weight shifted closer and an arm reached across him to draw him in.

'I'll be here, Dean,' Sam whispered. 

'Need to talk,' Dean mumbled, struggling against the heavy haze of exhaustion brought by so much emotional overload and the aftermath of sex.

'In the morning,' Sam said and pressed a kiss to Dean's temple. 'In the morning.'


	6. Chapter 6

'Sam…'

Dean murmured the name into the last fading remnants of sleep. 

Sam was home. Sam was here. With him. He had fallen asleep beside him. Right here in this bed.

Dean reached across the bed and felt nothing but cool, empty sheets.

His eyes snapped open, and his heart climbed into his throat. He lurched upright in the bed.

'Sam?'

His gaze swept the room frantically and found Sam standing in the early gray shadows of the snowy morning in the corner by the cradle. He was tracing the simple carvings on the headboard with the tip of his finger like the whole thing was some rare and priceless treasure. His other arm was wrapped tightly across his stomach, and he was hunched forward, curled in on himself like he was in pain. He didn't look anything like the strong figure who had brought Dean upstairs, blew him so good he almost went blind with it, and then firmly tucked him in with a promise of an explanation in the morning.

No, he looked like the old Sam. The one who could still pass for eighteen when he stood all huddled in on himself like this, with remnants of the broken man he'd become at Lucifer's hands still clinging to the edges of him.

 Sam's finger stopped it's tracing, and he turned his head toward Dean without lifting it. He smiled, but it was sad and weighted with regret. They stared at each other for a minute until Dean cleared his throat and said,

 'Like the beard. It suits you, but you still need a hair cut.'

Sam huffed a dry laugh and nodded. 'Thanks. You look good, too.' 

Dean rolled his eyes and shifted into a sitting position on the edge of the bed to take the pressure off straining muscles. 'I look like the broad side of a barn.'

'Dean…'

He looked up at the raw hurt in Sam's voice and colored under the intensity of his matching gaze. 

'You look beautiful,' Sam echoed his own words of the night before.

Dean blushed a shade darker and looked away. 'Sam, we need to…we need to talk.'

He almost couldn't believe he was saying those words. Sam was always the one who wanted to share feelings, and it wasn't really even that (though, Lord knew Dean had enough emotional damage going on right now to merit him a purple heart and permanent disability pay probably), but he did need some sort of explanation. He had to understand why Sam had walked—hell, _run_ —away and then not come back, since he wasn't as broken as Death had assumed, or dead.

'Dean?'

Sam was sitting on the bed beside him now, one knee up between them, facing him, eyes full of concern. He had a hand at Dean's elbow where he had reached to stroke over a spot the baby was once again kicking in vigorous objection to this rising stress.

'You all right?'

'Yeah.' Dean nodded, taking a slow breath.

'Is…is she?' Sam asked warily.

Dean stared at him a second, frowning a little. 'See, that's one of the things we need to talk about.' He sighed and boosted himself to his feet. 'I need to pee before she decides to use my bladder as a trampoline.'

When he came back out of the bathroom, Sam had moved further down the bed to lean on the footboard. Dean settled with his back against the headboard, facing his brother, one hand still absently stroking soothing circles on his belly.

'She going to let us do this?' Sam asked with an attempt at a smile.

'Yeah, she's fine,' Dean said flatly.

Sam flinched a little, rebuffed by the hard edge that had come into Dean's tone. He blew out a shaky breath. 'So. Ask.'

Dean looked at him long and hard. 'I'll get to that,' he said finally, 'but first I gotta know where you stand with this.' He motioned down at himself, the swell of his middle, took in the room and cradle and other subtle preparations with a loose gesture of his hand. 'Because last I knew, you wanted this baby gone, Sam. And I can't…I can't have you here, if that's what you still want.'

Sam sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, looked like he was about ready to sob, but shook his head sharply, eyes trailing up and down Dean with serious intensity.

'No. I don't want that.'

His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out and touch his brother, but he knew better than to try it just then and shoved them under his thighs instead to resist the urge, like he had when he was six and Dad and Dean had told him not to touch the array of shiny weapons spread on the motel bed.

'I don't want that at all,' he repeated firmly. 'I'm okay with it. Now. More than okay,' he answered the silent question in Dean's wary gaze. 'I want _this_. I want us and the baby.'

'All right, then,' Dean said slowly. 'Good enough. For now.' Sam flinched a little at the still guarded tone in his brother's voice, but Dean continued, 'Start from the top, Sam. Why? Why did you leave?'

Sam was silent for a long moment, gnawing on the lip still caught between his teeth, like he was deciding something. The sounds of Bobby starting breakfast drifted up from downstairs, and Sam tipped a shoulder toward the door.

'We might need coffee for this.'

'Fine,' Dean said.

They went downstairs.

Bobby had started a fire to counter the pervading chill in the old house and beat back the gray of the still falling, swirling snow outside. Dean couldn't even see past the porch to tell how high it was getting.

Coffee was perking on the counter in the kitchen, and Bobby was fixing what looked like oatmeal at the stove. He took one look at Dean's tense, closed face and Sam's resigned and slightly apprehensive expression and said only,

 ''Morning, boys. Coffee should be done in a minute.'

Sam nodded his thanks and got down a couple of mugs. Dean sat down at the table.

'Spill,' he said.

'Hang on,' Bobby said, waving the wooden spoon he was stirring with between them. 'If you boys are gonna get all touchy-feely with your feelin's, let me get my cup and get outta here.'

'No, Bobby,' Sam said, not taking his eyes from Dean. 'You should probably hear this, too.'

'All right, then,' he said uneasily and went back to stirring while keeping half an eye on Sam.

Sam poured the coffee, handed Dean a cup, but stayed standing at the counter.

'The Wall was coming down,' he said without preamble. 'Or, I thought it was. At first. It was actually more like it was becoming transparent in places so that I could see through.' He glanced at Dean here. 'Like I tried to explain before, I could see what I had done—what had been done to me—like I was watching myself in a movie, but I couldn't remember what any of it felt like. Probably the only thing that was saving me, really.'

Dean was pushing his coffee cup back and forth on the table but not drinking it. 'Yeah, I remember all that. But, Sam, that doesn't explain why you were so upset when you found out I was pregnant, why you wanted me to…get rid to it. Why you left.'

'I thought I was going crazy, Dean. I could feel myself cracking into pieces, and it terrified me. I was going to lose it, after everything you'd done to try and get me back, and I was going to go insane, and you were going to be left to pick up the pieces of that. Again. I couldn't do that to you.'

'So you ran.'

'I ran.' Sam gave up any pretense at actually drinking his coffee and set it down. He gripped the edge of the counter. 'And the baby…the baby I thought was going to be a demon.'

'What the hell, Sam!' Dean burst out.

'Hey, whoa,' Bobby said, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. 'You,' he pointed to Dean. 'Sit. And calm down. That little girl doesn't need you flying' into a panic. And Sam… _what_ now?'

Sam cringed away from Dean's apparent fury, but continued. 'In Hell, Dean, I told you Lucifer made me hurt you. Over and over. But I didn't say how.'

'You raped me,' Dean bit out. 'That's why you were so pissed about the bracelet.'

'Yeah, I did,' Sam agreed. 'But that wasn't all.'

'All?'

'Christ, do I _really_ want to hear this?' Bobby muttered.

Sam ignored him and went on, keeping his gaze locked on his brother. 'Every time I raped you, Dean, you got pregnant, and every time you died giving birth, and every time…the baby was born a demon.'

'Son of a bitch…' Dean felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him dizzy and leaning forward on the table to stay upright.

'It was in my blood, Dean,' Sam pressed on. 'He said it was the demon in my blood. That any child of mine would always be impure, always be part demon.'

'But he was lying, Sam,' Dean said. 'It wasn't real. You _know_ that.'

'I couldn't tell anymore, Dean! And I couldn't stay and watch you give birth to some tainted creature I'd put inside you.'

'Jesus Christ, Sam…' Dean felt sick. He wrapped an arm across his midsection and focused on taking even breaths. 'It wasn't real…'

'Dean, my blood is real,' Sam said quietly. 'No matter what else was or wasn't just Lucifer torturing me in that Cage, my blood will always be tainted.'

Dean tried to push himself up straighter, but he still felt like he was about to pass out, or vomit, or both. 'This baby— _our_ baby—is not a demon, Sam.'

'I know that. Now.'

'How?'

'Mutual acquaintance.'

Dean frowned. 'Cas?'

'Ha, no.' Sam smiled dryly. 'Though he would have been a lot easier to get a hold of.' When Dean continued to frown at him, confused, he said, 'Death. I needed answers, so I went to the Horseman's mouth, so to speak.'

'You went to see Dr. Robert?' Dean's fury reignited at the thought of Sam nearly killing himself over this even if he thought he was going to die anyway. 'Goddammit, Sam, you could have died!'

Sam scowled. 'Doctor…? Who are you talking about, Dean? I summoned Death.'

'Summoned…?' Dean's hot gaze bent on Bobby who at least had the guts to meet his eye. 'You said it couldn't be done.'

'I didn't want you goin' off makin' any desperate trades you'd regret later,' he said with a pointed look to Dean's swollen middle. 'Frame of mind you were in, there was no tellin what you might do.'

'Like go see that mad scientist doctor friend of yours?' Dean asked, voice rising. 

'Yeah, well, I thought you'd have better sense that to try and outright kill yourself!' Bobby retorted. 'Or at least that damn angel—'

'Wait. What?' Sam came off the counter, eyes flashing. 'You tried to kill yourself? What about the baby?'

Dean glared at his brother. 'What about it? What do you care, Sam? You walked out. You don't get a _right_ to care!'

Sam dropped back against the counter, deflated, like Dean had physically risen up and punched him, railed on him with his fists instead of just his words. 'Dean, I'm sorry,' he murmured brokenly.

Dean felt a pinch of regret at the devastated look on the kid's face. Then he felt another kind of pinch.

'Goddammit,' he swore softly and pressed his hand to the side of his belly, hunching forward a little around the sudden pain.

'Whoa, now!' Bobby said, stepping up between them. 'You boys quit this nonsense. You're both being damn idgits.' He looked anxiously at Dean. 'You all right, son?'

'Yeah,' he replied through gritted teeth. 'Just a cramp.'

'You boys beed to get your damn heads screwed on straight,' Bobby continued. 'Sam's back, and he seems to be okay and willing to at least pick up where he left off. Am I right, kid?' Sam nodded. 'Dean, _you_ need to let the man explain himself and either accept it or kick his ass out because you can't have it both ways.

'You two have a baby on the way, and not matter what shit's gone on in the past gettin' you to this point, that little girl there,' Bobby jabbed a finger in Dean's general direction, 'is more important than all your baggage. So, get all you dirty laundry out, air it, and then get it the hell folded up and put away.'

Bobby looked from one to the other of them for a minute, then took his coffee cup and stomped out onto the porch, leaving both men staring after him, wide-eyed.

'Wonder how long it'll take him to remember it's snowing,' Sam said absently. Dean just shook his head, and they both waited a count of ten for the front door to open again and Bobby to come back in stomping flakes off his boots and swearing.

''M gonna go check the damn generator out back,' he grumbled and headed down the back hallway.

Sam turned to the stove and took the pan of oatmeal, which had transformed to a consistency similar to wallpaper paste, off the burner. 'So much for breakfast,' he sighed. 'You want anything else?'

'Not right now. Sam, just…sit down,' Dean said.

Sam pulled out a chair and sat down across from Dean, folded his hands on the table between them, and kept his eyes downcast.

'Dean, I _am_ sorry.'

Dean sighed heavily. 'No, Sam. I shouldn't have said that. It wasn't fair. I just…I did what I could to save you from all that and it…it wasn't enough.'

'Well, I was hardly being cooperative either,' Sam admitted.

'How could you be? With all that stuff in your head, it's a wonder you lasted as long as you did.' He flattened his hands on the table and pushed them a little way toward Sam's still folded one's. Under the table, he felt Sam shift, nudge Dean's foot ever so lightly with his own. 'So. You summoned Death. Neat trick.'

'Yeah. Not as easy as it sounds, not particularly fun, and not guaranteed to work from what I've read, but possible. Guess I was on the VIP list.' Sam laughed drily, 'Not sure if that's a good thing.'

'That's what I said. He was waiting for my dumb ass,' Dean said. He pushed his left hand far enough across the table to graze Sam's knuckles with the side of his finger, stroking with the lightest touch. In response, Sam carefully slotted a foot between Dean's under the table. 'And he, uh, fixed you?'

'No.'

'No?'

Sam shook his head. 'He said he'd done all he could do. Some souls were just too strong to be imprisoned.'

'So, what?' Dean asked indignantly, anger on the rise again. 'You've still got a head full of Hell that could explode at any second and kill you!'

Sam reached one hand over the other and grasped Dean's that had subconsciously quit its stroking and clutched at Sam's. 'No, Dean,' he said gently, squeezing his brother's trembling fingers. 'That was the point. My soul was strong enough to deal with it. After it had time to heal. All I had to do was come to terms with what I'd done and either accept it as the torture device it was—something that was forced on me that I would have never been able to resist—or I could give into it. I could let it become my reality and go insane and probably die.'

'Jesus, Sammy, how did you…?'

Sam turned Dean's hand flat and held it securely between his own, letting his thumb brush in calming little strokes against Dean's wrist bone. 'Thanks to you, I was healed, or about as much as I was going to be, enough anyway to deal with what I had to.'

'Me? What did I do? You wouldn't hardly let me touch you.'

Sam looked at him serenely. 'You did what you always do, Dean. What you've always done, all your life. You protected me. For long enough that I had a chance to recover, to get my strength back. It didn't happen all at once either. It took me a while to come to terms with what was in my head.'

'How did you?'

'I, uh, actually hunted,' Sam admitted, looking a little sheepish.

'You hunted?' Dean said incredulously.

'Yeah. That bracelet? I kind of took all my anger out on it. I salted and burned the damn thing and then went looking for all the other pieces. Took me a while, but it gave me something to focus on while my head tried to sort itself out.'

Dean wasn't sure what to do with that. With any of it. He was glad Sam had found a way through to the other side of the Wall and what it held at bay. Glad that it at least appeared to be no longer a threat to either of them. But that he couldn't have been the one to help Sam deal with it? That Sam had felt he had to run, rather than let Dean help him through it like he had so many other things in his life? That stung. Deep. 

'But you're okay, now,' he said cautiously. 'With the baby?'

Because Bobby was right about that, the baby was—had to be—their primary concern right now, and Dean had to be sure beyond a doubt that Sam was on board with it.

'Death's 'parting gift' he called it,' Sam replied. He took a slow breath and raised his eyes to meet his brother's. 'He said that if I couldn't' believe anything else right then, to at least believe that I had a child out there, a little girl, one-hundred percent human; and to hang onto that and get myself home to her. And to my pain in the ass brother.' He smiled. 'You certainly have a way with omnipotent deities, Dean.'

'Damn know-it-alls, every one of them,' Dean muttered. 'Who the hell knew Death had a sentimental side, huh? And you—you believed him?'

Sam laughed a little and reached out for Dean's other hand 'I believed him. Of all the gods and demons we've dealt with, he's actually the only one whose never tried to kill us out of hand, or lied to us.' Sam paused, threaded their fingers together, and squeezed hard. 'I _did_ hang onto it, Dean. I hung onto that one certainty like there was nothing else true in the world. And I followed it home to you. Both of you.'

Dean squeezed Sam's hand in return, tears spilling over his lashes. He sniffed and ducked his head. 'You always were a damn sap.'

Sam smiled and reached to brush a tear from Dean's cheek with the pad of his thumb. 'If it gets the job done.'

'And you showed up on Valentine's Day, Sam. I mean really? You're never living that down,' Dean teased, voice husky with choked back emotion. Sam laughed outright. 'So…we're good?' he asked carefully.

'Yeah, Dean, we're good.' Sam let his gaze drop deliberately to the swell of their child growing inside Dean. 'With everything.'

Dean nodded and swiped at his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking upward mischievously. 'Better be everything, Sam, because I haven't had a decent lay in months.'

Sam rolled his eyes and shoved Dean's hands away. 'Jesus, Dean! He was right. You _are_ a pain in the ass.'

Dean grinned, caught at one of Sam's flailing hands and brought it to his lips, nipping at his knuckles lightly and then soothing it over with a kiss. 

'Maybe, but I'm all yours,' he said softly.

'Now, look who's being the sap,' Sam sighed, smiling.

Dean look up from under his lashes. 'Love you, Sam.'

It was a breath of sound, and after so many months unspoken, it sounded rusty and rough, but Dean's whole heart was in it, and the soft teary-eyed look it gained him (the kid always did have his heart in his eyes) was worth everything.

'Love you, too, Dean,' Sam whispered in return.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, from here on, we all have [naughtyangelxo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtyangelxo/gifts) to thank for the ending as the remainder was integrated from this prompt:
> 
> _Dean goes into labor while Sam and him are out for dinner and delivers in the Impala. Dean hides his contractions for most of the meal but once his water breaks he can't hold in the pain anymore. The night prior the two are laying in bed discussing possible names while Sam is resting his head on Dean's belly. When Dean suggests the name 'Myla'(means merciful), the baby gives a hard kick, like she's agreeing with the name, hard enough where Dean winces and Sam rubs the back of his head. Sam grins before rolling up Dean's shirt and kissing his belly._

'Dean, I'm going out for a minute,' Sam called from the kitchen. 'Bobby asked me to go into town and pick up a couple of things he needed for a spell he's researching.'

Dean put down the book he was reading and tried to shrug away the sudden cold prickle that darted across his shoulders. 'Can't he go after it?'

Sam paused in rifling his pockets for car keys and leaned around the door to give his brother an odd look. 'I suppose he could, but he's in the middle of working on it, and I'm not doing anything useful, so…'

'Yeah, of course.' Dean kneaded at a tight muscle in the back of his neck, then levered himself out of the rocker. 'I'll, uh, go with you.'

Sam's brow tugged in a brief frown. 'If you want to, but don't you usually…?'

'Don't I usually what?'

'Well, the last week or so you've been…resting, usually, in the afternoons.'

Dean scowled and twisted a little to each side to stretch his back, sore from carrying around the extra weight of his growing belly. 'I'm fine, Sam. I don't need naps. I'm not an invalid.'

'I didn't say you were,' Sam said quietly.

Dean refused to meet his gaze. 'Good, then let's go.'

'Okay.' Sam shrugged and gave a little shake of his head. He dug the keys out and jangled them. 'Wanna drive?'

'No,' Dean said, more short than he intended. Getting in and out of his Baby was difficult enough these days, driving her had become nearly impossible with his belly bumping the steering wheel and cutting down on his flexibility and leverage. He had seriously begun to reconsider installing a power steering pump when this was all over.

The drive to town was short, but Dean was dozing within minutes. He felt a thumb brush softly against the side of his neck and blinked his eyes open.

'Why didn't you just stay at the house and rest?' Sam asked softly. 'You haven't been sleeping well.'

'Been sleepin' fine, Sam.'

Sam scowled. 'You've been having nightmares nearly every night.'

Dean pulled away, avoiding Sam's searching gaze. 'It's just getting harder to sleep is all,' he said, grazing a hand over the swell pushing out into his lap. 'I have to wake up just to roll over now.'

Sam dropped his hand back to the steering wheel. 'Dean, I've heard you.'

'Heard me what?' Dean retorted.

Sam hesitated a second, then, 'Crying in your sleep. I try to wake you but…it just seems to make it worse.'

Dean's stomach clenched on a sick feeling of guilt at the undercurrent of hurt in Sam's voice. He suddenly wished he hadn't eaten lunch earlier.

'It's fine, Sam,' he said, looking straight ahead. 'They're just dreams.'

Except everything wasn't fine. Not really.

Dean had never considered himself possessive or paranoid; over protective maybe, but he'd never felt the need to live in Sam's pocket before or keep him in sight all the time. In the weeks following Sam's return, though, Dean had found himself shadowing his little brother. It wasn't intentional, or really even conscious, but whenever Sam left the room or went outside, Dean was never far behind, and anytime Sam needed to leave the house or run an errand, like they were doing now, Dean either found an excuse to keep him from going or a reason to go with him.

And the dreams? Well, Dean would have liked to be able to tell Sam they were just the normal nightmares he figured newly minted, soon-to-be parents always got about not being able to take care of their kid right or protect them from the big bad world—especially seeing as he and Sam knew just exactly what _was_ out there. It would have even been okay with Dean if they'd been nightmares of demon babies that became Queen of Hell, but they weren't.

They were of Sam. Leaving. Again.

It wasn't that Dean doubted his brother. He didn't. Not consciously. But Sam had left once, good reason or no, when Dean was at his most vulnerable—and he couldn't believe he was even _thinking_ that word in reference to himself; but this baby was scrambling all his circuits, making him want things he hadn't thought about for years, like a home and security. Sam meant security. Or he should have, but some part of Dean couldn't rid itself of the fear that Sam walking out could happen all over again.

So Dean's worst nightmares? Emptiness. Waking up alone.

He felt a gentle touch on his thigh, rubbing up and down.

'I'm not going anywhere, Dean,' Sam said very quietly.

Dean still refused to look at him. 'I know.'

''Cause if that's what you're worried about—'

'I'm not,' Dean snapped, and let out a frustrated sigh. 'It's fine, Sam. Just…leave it.'

And it was fine, Dean told himself. It really was. 

Until it all went to hell, and his worst nightmares became reality.

 

The sheets were cool, like the bed had not had an occupant for the last several hours even though it was only a little past eight in the morning. Panic sent Dean's heart straight up into his throat, and he lurched into a sitting position. The sudden adrenaline rush made the baby nearly as frantic as he was, and she responded by fretting with a series of hard punches and kicks to his insides. He swore softly, rubbing at his belly, ineffectually trying to calm them both.

He got his feet under him and made his way downstairs, heart still slamming in his chest, sweat prickling all up and down his spine as the overall silence of the big house settled around him.

'Sam?' 

He checked the kitchen first but it was empty and the coffee pot that ran nearly twenty-four-seven was cool to the touch with no sign that anyone had fixed fresh or eaten breakfast. The den was similarly empty, still in the familiar state of disarray Bobby had left it three days ago when he'd set out for Nevada after catching wind of a banshee on the loose.

'Sam…'

Dean's jack-rabbiting heart lurched painfully in his chest, and he braced himself momentarily in the door as another wave of adrenaline poured through him, making him feel hot, sick, and dizzy.

'Goddammit, Sam…'

The car. He should check the garage. Sam wouldn't take the Impala unless he was coming back. 

Dean turned for the door, wrenched it open, and nearly stumbled into Jody.

'Jody?'

'Dean? Hey! I was coming over before my shift to drop off— Dean? Dean, are you all right?'

Jody had him by the shoulders and was steering him back into the den and helping ease him down into a chair. She put a hand to the back of his neck and brought him forward as close to his knees as his belly would allow.

'Breathe, Dean. Slow and even. C'mon now, hon,' Jody coaxed, and it was only then Dean realized he was gasping, on the verge of hyperventilating. His vision was gray and staticky around the edges, and he groaned when he felt a sharp cramp low in his belly. 'Dean, can you tell me what's wrong? Is it the baby? Are you having any pain?'

Dean gave a sharp shake of his head and wrapped an arm around his middle. 'No, I—Sam's gone.'

Just saying the words aloud made his heart stutter again and sent another shot of adrenaline through him which the baby actively objected to by kicking him hard. He groaned again.

'Sam's gone,' Jody repeated evenly. 'Dean, what do you mean he's gone?'

'Gone. Left. Disappeared just like before—' he gasped as the baby kicked again. 

Jody frowned in confusion and took to stroking Dean's back, slow and gentle between his shoulder blades. 'Hon, how do you know he's gone? Did he leave a note or—?'

'Garage,' Dean said shortly. 'Check the garage. If he left the car then…he's gone.'

'Okay…' Jody was clearly bewildered now.

'He'd never take my Baby…'

'Take your—? Dean you're not making any sense,' Jody said. 'C'mon, now. Let me get you a glass of water. You just keep breathing, slow and even. Shallow. And when you're calmed down, you can explain to me why you think Sam's gone—'

'Because he fucking left! Again! He's not _here_!' Dean yelled.

Jody wrested his face with both hands then, trying to force him to focus on her. 'Dean—'

The sound of truck engine that badly needed its carburetor cleaned interrupted her, and a moment later Sam came through the front door with a small duffle over his shoulder.

'Sam! Thank God,' Jody said, relieved.

Sam froze for half a second, taking in the scene. 'Jody? What's going on? Is he all right? Is the baby—?'

'Where the fuck have you been!' Dean raged, coming to his feet so fast he threw Jody off balance so she toppled sideways. Sam actually backed up a step, and Dean wasn't sorry at all. He'd heard of blind rages. John had taught his boys very carefully to steer clear of that kind of fury, but what was pumping through Dean's blood now was so ferocious, so white hot, it raged through his veins, burning everything in its path, shoved along by a fear colder than death itself, so that the whiplash contrast contrived to send the room whirling and tilting like a circus funhouse hall of mirrors. The only stable thing in the moment was the restless, fretting life at his core that, oversensitive to his moods as she was, was doing a good impression of flying into a blind panic of her own.

The room tilted on the axis of his rage, and Dean tilted with it, knees folding, tipping forward in a protective curl around the only thing in the world he could be sure of right now.

'Sam!' Jody said sharply as she reached to stall Dean's forward tumble. He felt his momentum slowed, redirected by strong arms encircling his chest and lowering him back to the rocker.

'Jesus, Dean…' Sam's voice was soft, but so broken it cut Dean to shreds, and he hated his brother for it. What right did he have to hurt?

'Where. The fuck. Were you.' Dean repeated, forcing the words out between teeth clenched so hard he could feel sharp, hot jabs of pain shooting up through his temples and along his jaw.

'Dean, I—"

'Where!' Dean bellowed and then folded over with a groan when the baby declared she'd had quite enough with an all out kick fest to every soft organ she could reach.

'Dean, hon, you've got to calm down,' Jody said, stroking his back again. 'This isn't good for your little one, and she's trying to let you know that.'

'Dean, my god,' Sam whispered. His hands were on Dean's knees, rubbing, squeezing in aimless reassurance. 'Why didn't you…? I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry. I thought I'd be back— Bobby called around two and had gotten in a jam. I just—I went without thinking, Dean. But I told him I couldn't stay, that I had to get back or you'd worry, but Dean…I didn't th-think—I mean I didn't realize—'

'Didn't think what, Sam?' Dean spat venomously. 'Didn't think that maybe I'd have a fucking heartattack when I woke up and the bed was empty! Didn't think I'd just assume your head had finally exploded and you'd taken off for the hills, only for good this time?! Is that what you _didn't_ think?'

Sam was silent, his hands still on Dean's knees, just cupping them gently now. 'I thought—' Sam blew out a tremulous breath. 'I thought you trusted me.'

'I do,' Dean snapped.

It was automatic. Instinct. A spring-loaded response built into Dean's matrix from the age of four: trust each other because you're all either of you has. And he did, always had, without question. Even when he said he didn't all those long months ago, it wasn't _Sam_ he didn't trust, but the influences around him. Ruby, whispering in his ear. Lucifer, twisting his mind. The demon blood, thrumming power through his veins. Then it was the crater inside him, where his soul should have been, that Dean mistrusted. But never Sam, not his _brother_ —until now.

'No, Dean. You don't.' Sam said the words quietly like he was stating a fact, not the most heart breaking realization of their lives. 'I broke that.'

'Sam, you didn't—'

'I did, Dean,' Sam pressed. 'I did, and I know it. I ran away. I got scared, and I ran.'

'It wasn't as simple as that—not like you just had cold feet or somethin',' Dean objected, still trying to defend his brother, even now, hurt as he was by what Sam had done.

'No, but it wasn't just the Hell in my head and fear of having half demon offspring that I ran from, was it?'

Dean looked at Sam warily, his fury saturated and swamped by the fear that had fueled it, and now running like ice water in his blood.

'It was you. That's what hurts, isn't it? That I ran from _you_.' Dean gulped back a sob, and Sam reached tentatively to stroke his cheek. 'All my life, Dean, you've been there to bandage and heal my wounds—the ones that bled on the outside and the ones that festered on the inside, too. Always and every time you patched me up and put me back together, no matter how bad your own wounds were or if it was me that inflicted them.

'But this time, I ran. I didn't trust you enough, Dean. I didn't trust your strength to be all I needed, to be enough for both of us, did I? _That's_ the trust I broke, and I have no idea how to fix it.'

The last words were barely more than a whisper,  a thread of sound nearly devoid of hope. Sam dropped his hand and slowly curled forward to rest his forehead against Dean's knees.

Dean hesitated, caught beneath the crushing weight of his little brother's confession and the shock of the truth it held. It wasn't Sam's running and leaving him and their daughter behind that had hurt Dean the most and made him paranoid to the point of putting Sam on full lock down in Bobby's panic room. It was that Sam had not turned to him when he needed his big brother the most. When Sam had hurt the worst, been the most damaged he had ever been in his entire life, he had turned away from the strength and love that would have held and healed him.

Dean very slowly threaded trembling fingers deep into Sam's long, soft hair, just resting the pads of his fingers there against his scalp.

'Why, Sam? What did I do?' Dean dropped his head to press his lips against the top of Sam's head. 'When did you stop believing in me?'

They sat together like that for a long time. Beneath his fingers, Dean felt the warm beat and flow of his brother's blood under his skin, and he was not surprised, when he paid attention, that his own was keeping time. They had always been in sync with each other, moving as one, breathing together, each so vital to the other's existence.

Whenever death had separated them, they felt halved, reduced beyond measure, maimed halves of the same whole wandering aimlessly in the dark in search of purpose, filling the deep void left by the other's absence with whatever was to hand: vengeance, hatred, complacency, apathy. Dean had certainly known them all, and so had Sam. So, why or even how, Sam could choose to leave was beyond Dean's understanding.

Finally, Sam sat back and reached down into his boot, removing the knife he always kept there. John had given each of them a switchblade at the tender age of eight to keep hidden in their boot at all times, never to be caught without a weapon. The knives had been lost, damaged, and replaced over the years, and the one Sam pulled out now was not one Dean recognized. The handle was longer and bulkier than what he usually carried, and Dean watched, confused, as Sam laid it out in his palm, depressed a catch at the bottom so the side of the brushed nickel grip popped loose and Sam could slide it away. He turned it over in his hand and something small and weighted and brass, attached to a black leather cord coiled and wrapped tight around itself, fell out of the tiny hidden space in the knife handle.

Dean swallowed, closing his eyes against the dull glint of a stray mote of sunlight on the age tarnished surface. Sam set the knife aside and dangled the brass charm from its string between them.

'No.' Dean leaned back a little. 'No, Sam. I didn't—I shouldn't have— But I can't take it back. I don't deserve it.'

Sam continued to hold it up, undeterred by Dean's reluctance that bordered on fear. Softly he said, 'Dean, you wore this as a symbol of _your_ trust in me, and you threw it away when you thought that trust was lost.' Dean flinched and looked away, but Sam continued. 'What you forgot, is that I gave it to you as a symbol of _my_ trust in _you_ …always.

'I never stopped believing, Dean. Not in you. What I'd stopped believing in was myself, and I couldn't stay and watch you kill yourself trying to save me when I didn't think there was anything worth saving.'

'Sam…'

Sam lifted the cord a little but didn't try and put it over Dean's head. Instead, he took Dean's hand, coiled it slowly into his palm, and curled his fingers around it.

'My head still isn't one hundred percent screwed on straight,' Sam murmured with a wry smile. 'And I'm not sure if I'm cured, if I'll be able to keep this up forever, because it never really goes away.' He met Dean's eyes. 'But you know that. I promise you, though, that I will never abandon you. Either of you. I love you both, and I'm here to stay. Come Hell or high water.'

Dean groaned at the terrible pun and then tugged his brother into his arms, holding him tighter than he ever had before. 'You'd better make good on that, little brother. 'Cause we are _never_ lettin' you go. Not until you're dead, and with what we know? That really isn't anything we can't work around.'

'Jesus, Dean…' Sam laughed and buried his face deeper against the side of Dean's neck.

——

Dean didn't put the amulet back around his neck.

Sam might have been a little hurt by his refusal to wear it, but to Dean it was a symbol of more painful memories than good, and he still couldn't rid himself of that nagging feeling of undeserving. So, he compromised by hanging it at the head of their daughter's cradle and assigning it a whole new purpose.

Sam raised an eyebrow slightly as Dean wrapped the cord securely around a carved curly-cue. 'I'm sure the mothers of America would line up to tell you how not safe it is to have something like that hanging in a crib. What are you doing anyway?'

'It's just for now,' Dean said. 'We'll hang it from her mobile or something when we get one.'

'Okay…but why?'

Dean turned back to look at his brother, stretched out on the bed, a book of something old and Latin layed open across his thighs, trying to hide the hurt behind mild curiosity.

'I want her to have it,' he said quietly. 'We don't really have anything that's _ours_ , that belongs to both of us, like a family heirloom or anything that we can pass on to her. Except this.' Sam's smile faltered a little, and he swallowed once. Dean went on. 'If anything were to ever…happen to us, Sam, she'd have this. To remember us by.'

Sam set his book aside and rolled up off the bed, went to stand at Dean's back beside the cradle. He reached around him, spread his hands against the heavy swell of his belly and squeezed lightly, hugging both his brother and their unborn child.

'Is that okay, Sam?' Dean whispered, leaning back into Sam's embrace.

Sam nodded against the side of Dean's head and turned his lips in to kiss his temple. 'Very okay,' he answered. 'But, Dean, there will be other things we can give her. We'll make sure of it.'

'We will?'

Despite Dean's grand plans of retirement many months ago, with the baby being his ace-in-the-hole to convince Sam, they had not discussed it at all since his return. When Sam had vanished, Dean had taken it for granted that he would not go back to hunting. He really hadn't thought any further than that, but with Sam gone and a baby to think about, he doubted he would ever hunt again. When Sam had reappeared, Dean had hardly given a thought to how that would change what little planning he had done. He was too shocked to have his brother back to really even consider the future.

Sam lifted his head and turned Dean in his arms so he could look him in the eye. 'Yes, we will. Because I don't know about you, but I don't plan on going back to hunting. Not out in the field anyway. I hated being dragged all over the country, never knowing when or if you and Dad were coming back, never really having anything to call our own, or a place to go back to that felt like home.

'No child of mine—of _ours_ —is going to live with those insecurities, Dean.' Sam leaned back and smoothed his hands over Dean's prominent midsection again, stopping at the lower curve, almost as if to hold the weight of their little girl in his broad, strong palms. Dean shuddered. 'We're going to give her the warmest, safest, most secure home we possibly can, and the only monsters she will ever know about will be the ones in fairy tales.'

Dean scowled a little. 'I won't lie to her, Sam, and I won't have her be unprepared for what's out there in the dark. Especially being who she is. Do you think the population of Hell won't be pretty hot to lay their hands on a Winchester? A pure blood, for that matter?

'But I don't want her learning to sleep with a gun under her pillow by the time she's ten either. I don't want her exposed to it anymore than you do. So, yeah, we're done hunting. Done like Dad did it, anyway. And as much to keep you safe as her.'

'What do you mean?'

Dean sighed, wary of starting another fight. 'Sam, I wanted to get you out of this from the second Death put your soul back, remember?'

'Yes, but you didn't…' Sam's eyes widened, and—yup, there was the fight, if Dean didn't nip this fast. 'Dean, tell me you didn't… please.'

Dean shook his head. 'I won't lie, Sam. It was the perfect ticket out. It was one of the first things I thought when I found out, but no, I didn't do it on purpose. I told you. I didn't let Cas fix that.'

Sam stared at him a long moment. 'Then you really had given up, hadn't you?'

'On you? No,' Dean said, not even having to ask if Sam was talking about his triple-lindy into Hell. 'On the idea that Heaven or Hell either one would cut us any kind of break and let me have you back? Yeah, pretty much.'

'Turns out there are such things as miracles, huh?' Sam said.

'At a price, maybe,' Dean replied.

'Not always,' Sam said softly, lips curving in a tender smile as his hands rubbed slow circles on the sides of Dean's belly.

Dean blinked several times to forestall the spill of tears that immediately leapt to his eyes at Sam's gentle words coupled with his stroking. He stifled a moan and shook his head in mock irritation, but when he spoke his voice was hoarse with the true emotion behind it.

'You really _are_ a sap.'

Sam only smiled more, pulled Dean closer and let his hands drift upward to cup his jaw. Very slowly he lowered his head and brushed his lips against Dean's. Easy and undemanding, filled with the kind of love that makes a person drunk and irrational and only lives in the extremes; that can only be felt for small seconds at a time because it is of the devouring kind and consumes any who dare risk its feeling.

Dean trembled under that feeling, shocked and dazed like in that split second after a camera flash when all the world is only light and its reflection, to be caught and held in defiance of the march of time. The feeling was almost too much, and it set up a tremor in him that weakened his knees and made him sway.

Sam pulled back a little, 'Dean?'

Dean grasped at Sam's hips and blew out through his nose, shaking his head against the euphoric dizziness. 'Just need to sit down.'

Sam helped him ease down onto the bed and then stretched out beside him. 'Are you two okay?'

'Yeah, we're fine,' Dean with a half-hitch smile. 'You just still pack quite a punch.' 

Sam's cheeks crested pink, and he ducked his head down to rest it against the side of Dean's belly. He stroked a hand over the swell.

'You stop giving your papa grief, little one,' he commanded softly.

Dean smiled. 'She's fine, Sam. It wasn't her…this time. I just got a little lightheaded. Long day, I guess.'

They lay still a few minutes, Sam drawing absent wards and sigils against the curve beneath his head while Dean carded slowly through his hair.

'Have you thought about any names?' Sam asked, finishing the last strokes on a Mayan symbol for protection.

'No,' Dean said slowly. 'No, actually. I guess I just hadn't thought that far.'

'Well, we need to call her something.'

'Rambunctious pain in my—'

'Dean!' Sam admonished.

'—Spleen,' Dean finished with a grin and a playful tug on Sam's hair. 'She's a born kick boxer, I can tell you. God help the poltergeist that ever thinks it can hid in _her_ nursery closet. She'll have it down and begging to be banished in three minutes flat.'

Sam laughed and rubbed at Dean's belly. 'Really, though, we should think of a name.'

'All right,' Dean sighed. 'You got any suggestions?'

Sam stilled. 'How about Myla?'

'Myla,' Dean tasted the name on his tongue. 'Nice. Different. No one's ever going to spell it right, and I can't think of any good nicknames, still… It's definitely unique. Where'd you come up with it? And please don't tell me it's the name of some obscure goddess from an ancient culture only three people who are all now dead even knew existed and was wiped out before the time of the dinosaurs.'

Sam was quiet long enough that Dean almost regretted his caustic humor and was opening his mouth to apologize when Sam replied just above a whisper,

'It means 'merciful.''

Dean nodded slowly. 'Merciful, huh?'

Sam tilted his head back against Dean's belly to meet his eyes. 'Someone, somewhere has taken mercy on us, Dean. Don't you think? After all we've done, all we've seen, the chaos we've caused and averted just the same; don't you think it's more than just luck that we would be given this chance at a whole new life?' Dean stared into Sam's intense gaze, speechless. 'Maybe there is a God, Dean. Maybe he does care. Because this?' He spread his hand over Dean's middle. 'This is him having mercy on our sad, sorry, overused souls, and offering us a fresh start. So, yeah. Myla…merciful.'

Dean swallowed and then swallowed again and covered Sam's hand where it rested. 'Yeah, Sammy. Yeah, okay. I like it. Myla it is.'

Sam smiled, and the newly christened Myla chose that exact moment to kick, hard, at the back of his head. He jolted a little in surprise and rubbed at the spot.

'Ow!' Dean winced. 'Have some mercy on your papa, kiddo.'

Sam laughed and nuzzled his cheek to the spot their daughter was vigorously attacking. 'Well, she either likes it, or she hates it,' he said.

'Great. She can tell us when she's sixteen and having an angst-ridden meltdown. Until then, she's stuck with it.' Dean grunted in discomfort as she attacked the same spot again in earnest.

Sam laughed softly and pushed Dean's t-shirt up so he could press his lips to the tiny, foot-shaped protrusion on the side of his belly. 'Hey, Myla,' he admonished gently. 'You need to settle down, sweetheart. You're hurtin' your papa with all your ruckus, and it's long past your bedtime, little miss. So, lights out.'

Dean gaped a little in surprise as all the internal activity suddenly quieted, but it was a short reprieve, and then she was right back at it.

Sam brushed another kiss to Dean's belly. 'Not a very good listener, is she?' 

Dean huffed a breath in reply as she kicked again. Sam followed his wayward daughter's activity with a trail of calm kisses until he noticed the slight tremor in Dean's body and the tightening of muscles against his lips. He looked up from under his lashes, still smiling, and trailed lower down.

'Maybe she just needs to be rocked.'

Dean groaned again, but it was far from discomfort that caused it this time as Sam shaped his palm over the stiffening bulge between Dean's legs. The other hand went to Dean's hip to hold him while Sam dipped his head lower still and Dean could feel the warm, damp of his breath through the thin, soft cotton of his sleep pants.

'Sam, don't you dare joke about that,' he rasped, giving a little aborted push of his hips to fit himself more fully into the warm, cupping pressure of Sam's hand.

'Not joking, Dean,' Sam said in a near growl, and when Dean looked down and met his brother's eyes, they were hot and alive with need; warm, muted hazel un-spun and starkly vibrant in its component blues and greens and golds.

'Yes,' Dean breathed, dropping his head back to the pillow. 'God, yes…'

Sam ran his other hand down the inside of Dean's thigh, urging it to fall back, to open to him, and Dean did. Sam shifted his hand over the thickening length of Dean's cock and pushed his thumb down and back, rubbing with a steady pressure, just teasing at the edge of his hole through his pants. Dean twisted a little, gasping, fists furling and unfurling against the quilt.

'Sammy…'

Sam nuzzled his cheek to Dean's cock, turning his head so he could bite gently at the inside of his brother's thigh. Dean bucked upward, restricted in the force he could exert by the weight of his belly, and groaned wantonly as Sam repeatedly teased him with the continued nuzzling and soft nipping when what he really wanted was to feel that teasing thumb slip up inside him and start opening him up to take Sam inside him.

He ached with it. Literally. It felt like there was a hollow, gaping space inside him that only Sam's cock inside him was going to be able to fill. He tried to twist downward, to get more pressure on his hole from Sam's questing thumb, but Sam retaliated by taking his hand away all together.

'Easy, Dean…' Sam whispered.

'No,' Dean gasped. 'No, not easy. Want you Sam…Jesus, I want you so much…'

The fire in Sam's eyes flared, and for just a moment Dean almost thought he'd give in and just take him right there, but Sam had nothing if not self-control. It had been the bane of Dean's existence sometimes, especially times like now, when his cock was so full and aching and already weeping, and he swore that one stroke or touch of Sam's lips was going to bring him to climax in no time at all.

'Hormones…gotta be the hormones…' Dean mumbled, not realizing he'd spoken out loud.

'Hmmm?' Sam hummed, and it vibrated through Dean's cock and made him jerk hard and leak more.

'Hormones,' Dean repeated. 'I can't—not gonna last very long, Sam. It's gotta be the whole 'pregnant thing'…Jesus! Sam, just—just—'

Sam said nothing but hooked a thumb under the waistband of Dean's sleep pants and tugged them free of his hips and then off entirely. He held above Dean for a whole minute, taking in the thick swell of his cock resting against the even bigger, rounder swell of his full belly, and Dean was about ready to blush when Sam dropped with a fierce growl and sucked Dean down without any warning, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing until the suction was such that Dean didn't have a single chance in hell of not coming in a flat three seconds, and he nearly howled as the orgasm crashed over him like a storm wave against sharp, jagged cliffs. It was brutal and messy and left him feeling more wanton even than before, somehow unsatisfied in the swift intensity that had not lasted nearly long enough.

Sam wasn't finished though, it seemed. He levered back up on an elbow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and immediately palmed Dean's oversensitive cock, keeping him on the sharp edge of need, while he worked one of his long, long fingers back and… Dean bit down on the sharp cry as Sam pushed a cum-slickened finger up his hole and rubbed, crooking his finger forward just so. Dean's cock answered by fattening up almost immediately, pushing against Sam's restraining palm, begging already for more, just…more.

And Sam gave it to him.

Sam worked another finger in with excruciating slowness, holding to his old tried and true ways of teasing Dean to his absolute limit and then backing off in round after round until Dean wanted to just grab him and hold him and sit down on his cock and screw himself until he was screaming with the pleasure of it. He tried repeatedly to reach for Sam, to tug him upward, so he could get his hands on him and commit the same sort of torture on him that he was dealing out to Dean, but Sam was stubborn and stayed just out of his reach, opting to grind his hips into the mattress to take the edge off while he pleasured his brother to the edge of sanity and left him dangling.

'Sam…you fucking….lose it to the bedsheets,' Dean gasped as Sam worked at his hole with a slow, deliberate vengeance, scissoring him open and stroking his prostate in infuriating turns. 'I swear to God…'

Sam chuckled darkly, and Dean growled as he slipped his fingers out, leaving Dean writhing and empty and wanting to cry with the need to be filled up, to stretch around his brother's cock and feel him pumping sure and strong in his ass. Dean whimpered then, and Sam swept it away with a demanding kiss, finally lifting himself up and over Dean.

'Roll on your side,' Sam murmured.

Dean obeyed, grumbling as he had to shift and stuff pillows to cradle the weight of his belly, but Sam soothed him with a firm stroking hand down his back that ended with his fingers dipping once again down the cleft of his ass and pushing up inside him, leaving Dean clutching at the pillows and moaning with pleasure as he was finally able to rock his hips freely to the rhythm of Sam's stroking.

Sam pulled out again and Dean bit off a curse, but before he could even take in another breath, it was stolen from him by the hot slide of Sam's cock against his hole, nudging insistently, spreading him slowly, stretching him open until his felt the full girth of his brother hard and swollen inside him. He went slow, so slow that Dean felt the drag of every blood fattened vein across his insides as he pushed, steady and deep, one hand gripping Dean's hip so hard there would be bruises the next morning. He bottomed out and stayed for a few heaving breaths, and Dean could feel the pulse and leap of Sam's cock inside him, wanting to pump hard, to climb toward that euphoric release at a breakneck pace, but Sam just pulled back, slow and easy, and then stroked in again.

 Dean knew what this was. This was Sam keeping control. This was classic Sam trying to protect him, to go easy on him, to take care of him. And Dean appreciated it. It brought fucking tears to his eyes, actually, but he didn't want it. Not this time. Not this way. He put a hand on Sam's where it clutched his hip.

'Don't hold back, Sam,' he whispered. 'Don't you dare hold back.'

And just like that, Sam's strings were cut. His chest shuddered and expanded against Dean's back, and then he was driving hard into Dean, each stroke a force of nature by itself, propelling them upward. All Dean could do was grind his teeth and fist the sheets and swallow back against the screams of intense pleasure rocketing through him with every jolt of Sam's hard pumping thrusts. The feel of Sam inside him, thick and hard and pulsing with his barely contained orgasm sent shockwaves of white hot bliss up and down Dean's spine where it pooled low and superheated and leaked from his own swollen cock onto the sheets, set to boil any second and send him over an edge higher than any he could recall in the past.

'Sam…' he gasped out, fingers digging into the mattress. 'Sam, I can't…'

Sam bottomed out one last time with a guttural cry that he muffled with a swift, hard bite into the meat of Dean's shoulder and then Dean felt the hot wash of Sam coming inside him, pouring into him deep and filling him up until he couldn't hold anymore. He was lost then, lost to that edge and the blinding light below that swallowed him up in its heat and held him suspended in a state of ecstatic joy that went on for what seemed an eternity.

'Dean…' Sam murmured against hi brother's neck, nuzzling there, kissing softly, repeatedly. 'Dean?'

'Mmm….' It was all Dean could manage. He was still floating high and light and felt like he outside his body looking down on the two of them, sprawled in a sweating heap on the bed. Then he felt Sam's fingers brush across his belly ever so gently and the faintest responsive flutter from within that almost tickled.

'She sleeping now?' Sam smiled into the curve of Dean's throat.

'Yeah, I think so,' Dean murmured sleepily. 'Think we drugged her up…all the endorphins.'

Sam huffed a low laugh. 'Probably.'

They lay there just breathing together, cooling in the still quiet of the room, listening to the beat of each other's hearts, and the slow ebb of rushing blood in their veins. When Dean finally dropped off to sleep, Sam already whuffing warm, even breaths across his skin, he thought that there was never a time in his life that he'd felt so satisfied, so perfectly content in every way—full of his brother, full of the life they had created together, sleeping safe in a place that was the closest to home they had ever known—and the only word Dean's sleepy mind could give him to name it…was happiness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gives birth...and about damn time.

'Fuck, Sammy,' Dean groaned as he dragged against Sam's supporting arm to lift himself out of the Impala's front seat. 'I'm so huge, I can hardly move.'

He rubbed a hand over the full curve of his swollen middle, grimacing a little at the pull of already strained muscles under all the extra weight. For whatever reason, today had somehow been worse than normal. Even as languorously as he'd slept last night after their session of lovemaking, he'd woken up feeling tired and crampy and sore this morning, and the feeling had pretty much pervaded throughout the day. He supposed, maybe, since they were on the downhill run now, that this was just how things were going to go from now on. He'd started getting random contractions a few days ago, which Jody had assured him was perfectly normal and just meant that their baby—that Myla—was making known she was preparing for her big debut.

Sam brushed his lips against Dean's temple and smiled in concerned sympathy. 'We don't have to do this, you know.'

'No,' Dean said, deliberately straightening, no matter how much his aching back protested, and ignoring the twinge of muscles again. 'We should celebrate.'

Sam rolled his eyes. 'Dean, it was a silly suggestion. I'm sorry I made it. Let's just stop for take out and get you back home where you can be comfortable, okay?'

Dean lifted a hand to rest it momentarily against Sam's warm, blushing cheek. 'No, Sam, no. This is special. Myla picked her name, and I want to celebrate that. I really do. I want to celebrate us. We deserve it. After everything…' Sam's blush deepened, but it was tinged with shame, and Dean thumbed his brother's cheek bone gently, hushing the beginnings of another apology. 'Sam, don't. I didn't say that as a jibe. I just…want this to be the beginning, huh? A rousing entry to our fresh new start.'

Sam conceded by ducking his head down to nuzzle Dean's palm. 'But I don't want you hurting.'

'I'm fine,' Dean insisted, stepping out of the way so Sam could shut the door. 'Just feel like I'm gonna pop if you poke me too hard, is all.'

'Well, I'll certainly try not to,' Sam said. 'We can't have our little scamp making any early appearances. She's still got three weeks left on the clock.'

Dean groaned again. 'Don't remind me.'

He turned away momentarily to hide another grimace of discomfort as the muscles in his lower back clenched. Jesus, but he must have slept wrong or something last night. He rubbed at the spot briefly and then lead the way into the restaurant before Sam could notice and ask any questions.

It was a step above their usual diner fare, but still nothing fancy and Dean ordered a burger with everything and onion rings with the certain knowledge that he was going to pay for it later, but if they were going to do this then they were going to do it right. Sam never so much as batted an eyelash as he order his own grilled chicken on wild rice special with a side salad.

Dean fidgeted with his water glass, distracted by the muscle cramps in his lower back, and shifted in his chair. Sam reached across to tap the back of his wrist and get his attention.

'You doing all right?'

Dean forced a smile, hoping it wasn't screwed down too tight at the corners, though it probably wouldn't matter as perceptive as Sam always was to how he was really feeling. 'Yeah, fine. Just a little uncomfortable. Think I must have slept wrong or something. My back just won't quit, or maybe I'm noticing it more, I dunno. She's shifted around quite a bit lately and I just need to get used to it.'

'I wish there was something I could do to help,' Sam said earnestly.

Dean let go of his glass and gave Sam's hand a quick squeeze. 'You do. You're here.' Sam blushed a little again and Dean groaned. 'There I go again…this baby really is turning me into a chick.'

Sam chuckled at that. 'Well, I hope some of it's permanent. You're going to need to file down those rough edges if you want to deal with a girl.'

Dean scowled in indignation. 'I'll have you know I've dealt well with _girls_ all my life.'

'I don't mean the one-night stand sort of dealing,' Sam laughed. 'I mean the permanent raising-them-living-with-them-listening-to-them-cry-over-boyfriends-buying-them-tampons-and-prom-dresses' kind.'

Dean blanched. 'Christ. I hadn't though about that.'

'What? The tampons?' Sam smirked.

'No.' Dean shuddered. 'The prom dresses.'

Sam laughed out loud. 'Oh my god, Dean, there are a million and one emotional and _physical_ things involved in raising a little girl that you have no clue about, and yet…it's the prom dresses you're worried over.'

'Well, yeah,' Dean scowled. 'I just…guess I figured she was going to be the jeans type, you know?'

Sam shook his head, still smiling. 'She very well may be. In fact, I can picture it now…I have John Acne-face Doe on the front doorstep with a carnation and a stutter, and I'm having to go out in the garage and drag the both of you out from underneath the Impala and send her through the shower to wash off the grease and then find her a last minute dress for the dance because she didn't change before she decided to take a lesson from you in adjusting the timing chain.'

Dean shook his head. 'No, because you don't adjust the timing chain from under the car, Sammy. We'd just be under the hood in that case, and if I put a drop cloth over the front we could keep the grease off her dress—'

Sam hooted with laughter again, startling Dean out of his little vision, and then they both laughed.

'I think maybe we're getting just a little ahead of ourselves,' Sam gasped, trying to catch his breath.

'Yeah, maybe.' Dean grinned.

Dinner arrived, and as good as it had sounded when Dean ordered, he couldn't bring himself to just dive right in and devour what looked to be a perfectly cooked burger and crunchy onion rings. The cramps in his back were getting worse, and some of them felt like they were almost radiating around front across his belly. A couple of times he had to swallow back a gasp at the suddenness of outright pain.

He tried eating slowly, small bites, consistently enough that Sam wouldn't really take notice that he wasn't making a whole lot of headway getting much of it down. They kept up a constant banter about odd little things they thought they may encounter in trying to raise a little girl that neither of them had given much thought to, so it was easy to keep his little brother distracted, until he found himself gritting his teeth so hard he could barely talk.

'I'm gonna hit the bathroom,' he managed after one particularly brutal cramp had made him snap his jaw so tight he'd almost bitten the tip of his tongue.

Sam just nodded and Dean stood, drawing on every reserve he had to keep the pain out of his face and the way he moved as he headed to the back of the restaurant. But the second he was in the stall, he hunched forward, swearing profusely and clutching at his lower back. He almost wondered if something was wrong because the pain was getting more and more intense, nothing on a scale he supposed he hadn't had before, but it was still nearly crippling, and he hoped to hell it would let up soon.

He decide to avail himself of the facilities since he'd bothered to come back, knowing that Myla would undoubtedly aim a well placed kick to his bladder soon, though she'd been pretty quiet today, and send him bolting for the bathroom anyway.

He'd just sat down and started to go when the small trickle turned into a huge rush that poured out of him and immediately following that a tremendous cramp gripped his lower back and moved with almost sinister purpose around front to squeeze across his belly so that he was left gasping and gripping the slick walls of the stall.

'Holy shit…' he huffed and tried to catch his breath and then it dawned on him what was really going on. 

He hadn't slept wrong last night, and he certainly wasn't having more of those little intermittent Braxton-whatevers that Jody had told him were completely normal, and that had not just been his bladder emptying itself.

He was in labor.

'Oh, goddammit,' he swore again.

He struggled a little, between the onset of these much more intense pains, to get himself back together and make his way to the table without making a scene. He didn't bother sitting back down when he got there.

'Sam, I think maybe we should skip dessert,' Dean said evenly, trying not to grimace with the pain squeezing around his middle.

'Okay,' Sam said slowly, starting to frown in concern. 'Are you feeling all right? Did something make you sick?'

'No.' Dean leaned into the chair, gripped it tight, and bit back against another groan. 'My water just broke.'

'Your water just…' Sam's eyes shot wide as he launched to his feet. 'Jesus, Dean! Just now?'

'In the bathroom, yeah.' Dean leaned hard on Sam's arm, fingers curling in as another contraction built in his lower back. He hummed a little under his breath as the pain crawled forward and squeezed with a very definite downward force.

Sam flagged their waitress and looked over at Dean in sudden shocked comprehension. 'Don't tell me you've been having contractions all through dinner.'

Dean huffed a tight laugh. 'Try all day.'

'What?!'

'Is everything all right, sir?' the waitress asked coming up on Sam's elbow.

'Th-there's been an emergency.' He stuttered a little, still dumbfounded by Dean's confession. 'I need the check right away, please.'

The waitress cast a sympathetic eye to Dean as his hand flexed tight around Sam's forearm again and he let out a harsh breath through his nose, but she set her tray down and immediately produced the check. 

Sam handed her a couple of bills. 'Will that take care of it?'

'Absolutely!' she said. 'Let me get your change. I'll be quick, I promise.'

'Don't worry about it,' Sam said quickly when Dean's fingers dug into his arm yet again.

'But—' the waitress looked startled. 'I-Is there anything I can do?'

'Bottle of Jack to go,' Dean quipped tightly.

Sam rolled his eyes and smiled at the flustered girl. 'Ignore him. Thanks, no. We're good.'

Sam steered Dean slowly out to the parking lot, pausing twice to let him breathe through the contractions that seemed to be coming awfully quick for Dean's comfort and were getting exponentially stronger each time.

'Dean why didn't you _say_ something?' Sam asked when they got through the doors.

'Because, honestly, Sam? I couldn't tell.'

'You couldn't tell,' Sam repeated skeptically. ' _How_ could you not tell?'

Dean shot his brother a quick glare. 'You try haulin' this around for nine months with the straining muscles, sore back, and those damn Braxton-Hicks things, and let me know if you can tell. Besides…we're used to pain, Sam. It kinda takes a lot, you know?'

Sam conceded with a quirk of his lips. 'Obviously, you found your threshold.'

'Yeah, I think— _sonofabitch_! Dean lurched forward, intensely glad the Impala was right in front of him to grab onto. He panted a little and pressed a hand against the lower curve of his belly. The last contraction had left him with a sudden intense pressure in his pelvis.

'Dean?' Sam's hand was at his back, the other working the keys in the lock. 'Dean, what's happening? Talk to me.'

'Zero to sixty, Sammy,' Dean gritted out.

'Huh?' Sam waited until Dean indicated he could move again, swung the door wide, and helped Dean lower himself into the seat.

'They're getting stronger,' Dean said, smoothing his palms over the tight, hard, swell filling his lap.

'Obviously.' Sam jammed the keys in the ignition and fought the urge to peel out of the lot.

'And coming faster.' Dean stifled another groan. 'Too fast— _goddammit_!' he hunched up and grabbed the dash as the contraction peaked, panting hard.

'Too fast? What do you mean too fast?' Sam's foot pushed a little harder on the accelerator, making the Impala shift hard through her gears.

Dean blew out a breath, shot Sam a sidelong look. 'Easy, Sam,' he warned.

Sam rolled his eyes but forced himself to ease off. 'Dean, what do you mean 'too fast'?'

'I mean—' Dean ground his teeth as his back muscles clenched fiercely and then handed the pain off to squeeze across his belly, forcing the impossible pressure he was already feeling further down into his pelvis. He shifted his hips forward in the seat, trying to get a little relief, but another contraction was building on the heels of the first and as it crested across the top of his belly and rippled downward, he had a sinking feeling he knew what was causing all the pressure.

'The baby's coming.'

'Yeah, got that memo,' Sam said.

'No, Sam. She's coming. Now.'

'Now,' Sam echoed. 'You mean… _now-_ now?'

'Yes,' Dean hissed, sliding his hips further forward and letting his knees fall apart, bending to the overpowering urge to make room for the baby to come.

'Okay, that's _way_ to fast,' Sam muttered.

'Yeah, well…' Dean grunted with another contraction, instinctively tucking his chin to his chest.

'Do you feel like you need to bear down?' Sam asked.

'Bear—what?' Dean panted out of the contraction and darted a look at Sam before he grabbed the door handle in a bloodless grip and shoved against the footwell as another contraction climbed right up and over the last.

'Bear down,' Sam said again. 

'If you mean, do I have the overwhelming urge to push this baby out right the fuck now? Then, yes!'

Sam blew out a shaky breath. 'Okay. Okay. Dean what do you want to do—hospital or home? We're about fifty-fifty on time.'

'I'm sure as _hell_ not going to the hospital,' Dean snapped, pressing his knees even further apart because he had no idea what having a baby was supposed to feel like, but whatever was happening in his pelvis felt a lot like a bowling ball trying to sink itself on the putting green. 'But I really…don't think it matters, Sam.' 

'What do you mean?' Sam asked, alarmed.

'I mean…you need to pull over,' Dean said.

Sam's eyes widened. 'Dean, we're only about fifteen minutes from home…can you just…not push? Or something?'

Dean groaned loudly as the pressure increased and shifted downward with serious intent.

'Not pushing, Sam. Really not. But she's…comin'…anyway…. _Jesus_!' Dean cursed and grabbed at the dash again. 'Sam. Pull over. Now.'

Sam had learned long ago not to defy that particular tone in his brother's voice. It was probably one of the only remaining traits of John's left in Dean's possession, and that's why he used it now. Because no matter how old or far removed Sam was from the little boy who'd frozen in his tracks at that tone of voice, he would still obey it without question.

Sam steered the car to the shoulder. They were at the edge of town and probably not likely to be interrupted, at least not by anything human. Dean tried hard to pant through the next contraction as Sam came around the side of the car and squatted down in the gravel. He was fighting the urge to push with everything he had in him because he was really starting to not want to do this even though he'd had Sam pull over; but he could still very definitely feel the baby's downward progress, like his body was doing this all on its own without so much as a nod to his thoughts on the subject.

'How do you want to do this, Dean?' Sam asked, voice shaking just a little, but clear and soft nonetheless. Dean almost sighed at the sound of it because that was Sam being Sam. No panicking, no fighting the inevitable, just finding a solution to the problem at hand.

Dean reached for the waistband of his pants. 'Get…rid of these.'

Sam helped Dean work his way out of everything but his shirt and t-shirt and then started to strip out of his own undershirt.

'Sam, what're you—?'

'Not like we thought to pack baby blankets,' Sam said with a nervous laugh.

Dean conceded with a lopsided shrug and then clamped down on Sam's shoulder with another contraction, groaning heavily while he tried not to push with it.

'Still feeling like you need to push?'

'Yeah,' Dean grunted, shifted his hips to try and open himself, counter to his conscious efforts not to follow the urge to bear down. 'Tryin' not to, though.'

Sam smiled a little. 'I don't think that's going to help at this point, Dean. Sounds like she's going to have her way with or without your permission.'

'Yeah,' Dean huffed and hummed deeply through another pain that sank the pressure even deeper into his pelvis. He could almost feel his body spreading, opening up to allow their baby to be born. 'And this is just the beginning, right?'

Sam grinned briefly as his brother's attempt at humor. 'Yeah, right. Not like we'd've really had a chance anyway.'

Another contraction had Dean grabbing Sam's hand and squeezing hard. 'Dammit, Sammy, this is _not_ how I wanted to do this.'

'I'll grant you, it's not ideal—' Sam started to agree.

'It's not…safe…oh, _Christ_!' Dean fisted Sam's shirt, tucked his chin down and grunted ferociously with the sudden, fierce contraction. 'Sam, she's comin'…I can feel…' He grunted again, huffing hard in an attempt to avoid bearing down. 'I can feel her…Jesus, Sam, I think she's comin' out!' 

'Here, let me…' Sam leaned over in the dim light of the dome from above, pulled Dean's thigh aside a little, and let out a shocked breath. 'Wow. Wow! Dean, she's _definitely_ coming. I can see her. She starting to crown.'

'To…what!'

'Crown. Her head is coming down. She's fully crowned when it reaches the widest part.'

'Widest—? It get's worse than this?' Dean hunched forward with another contraction, one hand biting into the leather of the seat, the other wrapped around Sam's. Between his legs, he felt a horrible stretch and burning sensation, and he tried to shift his knees even further apart, getting one foot up on the center hump and the other in the doorframe.

'Wait 'till you have to push her shoulders out,' Sam said absently, intently watching Dean's progress as he worked to birth their daughter.

'Oh, fuck!' Dean jerked and tried to scoot back in the seat almost like he was attempting to get away from the impending pain of Sam's warning. 'Sam, I can't do this.'

Sam gripped Dean's thigh to still his struggling. 'Dean, I really don't think you have a choice. She's… _right_ there.'

'You think I don't know that? Jesus… _Christ_!' Dean finally gave in to the need to push, unable to resist it, and the baby slipped forward another fraction of an inch.

'That's it, Dean. That's good. She's coming now,' Sam coached calmly.

'I don't _want_ her to come! Not here. Not…out in the open…'

'Dean, you don't—'

'Dean?'

Sam nearly landed on his butt in the gravel when the angel appeared out of nowhere beside him.

'Holy shit, Cas!' he swore harshly. 

Cas ignored him and leaned in the car door. 'Dean, I came when I sensed your distress.'

'Good!' Dean nearly laughed, though it was a little choked and nigh onto hysterical. 'Cas…zap us back to…Bobby's. Quick.'

'Dean, I can't do that. The stress that would put on you and your daughter at this moment is too great a risk.'

'Dammit, Cas. I am _not_ doing this here!'

Cas reached around the door and laid a warm palm on Dean's clenching belly and spoke very softly, 'Dean, you are safe. Your daughter is safe. I will keep watch and no harm will come to you.'

Dean's eyes flicked up to Cas' and locked there for a split second. The angel looked back, serene and calm, and for just a moment, his eyes glowed bright, ethereal blue; and it was enough.

Dean curled forward with the next contraction and pushed with a vengeance, willing his body to open, narrowing his focus to the feel of his daughter's head emerging from him. He planted his feet and pushed even harder, dimly aware of Cas' hand still on his laboring belly, and Sam's voice warning him to go slow and steady.

He gave another fierce push and felt a moment's relief when the baby's head emerged completely to Sam's surprised cry.

'Dean! I've got her head. Her head is out, now just—'

But Dean wasn't listening. His body gathered itself for one fierce and final push, the accompanying contraction squeezing down so hard he swore he could feel every individual muscle working to birth his daughter the rest of the way into the world. He felt a tremendous build of pressure and threw his head back against he seat with a harsh cry as her shoulders pushed forward and down, stretching him so he thought he'd tear to pieces. Then there was a sudden rush and release, and Sam was urgently patting his inner thigh.

'Oh my God…Dean. Dean! Stop. Stop! Breathe. You're done. You're all done. I've got her,' Sam said, voice breaking up as he spoke until Dean could hear the thick of tears in it. 'I've got her, Dean. You did it. She's here.'

Dean slowly felt the world reassert itself and sank back into the seat, finally registering the sharp, angry crying that belonged to his daughter.

'Hey…hey, hey, little girl,' Sam hushed her. 'Hey, sweetheart. You want to meet your papa?'

Dean reached out for the little bundle wrapped in Sam's t-shirt, jealously drawing her in and cuddling her to his chest. 

'Hey, baby girl…' he whispered, peeking at her delicately featured face that was calming now that she was in his arms. 'Little anxious to meet us, huh?' His eyes flicked up to Sam's whose own were shining bright with tears. 'My God, Sam…'

'Yeah,' he said softly, nodding. He scooted up until he was sitting on the running board and could reach up a tentative finger to stroke his daughter's cheek and stare in awe.

'May I?' Cas asked quietly, fingers poised over Dean's forehead.

Dean gave a quick nod, and Cas touched him. He felt the brief, familiar disorientation and the swift, intense punch to his guts as every part of him reordered and refreshed itself, and when he drew in his next breath, he felt as normal as he had before any of this ever began.

'How do you feel? Sam asked.

 Dean grimaced as his state of undress, now that there was no haze of pain to distract him. 'Like I really want my pants back on.'

Sam laughed and Cas cocked his head in confusion. Dean grinned and tucked his daughter that much closer, nuzzling against her cheek.

'Shall we go home, Myla, and meet your Uncle Bobby? He's going to be very jealous that your Uncle Cas got to see you first.'

Above their head's, an angel shed a tear.


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And because I'm the biggest glutton for angst in the world, and also the biggest sap living... Not to mention I cannot go without returning some of the power back into Dean's hands. He's the big brother after all...

Dean woke to his daughter's soft sigh and an empty bed.

His heart didn't fly into his throat this time, though. He reached across and felt the residual warmth on the pillow beside his own and rolled over, searching the dark of the room until he found Sam's form hunched beside Myla's cradle in much the same pose Dean had found him the morning of his return a few months ago.

'She hungry?' Dean asked softly in response to the sweet, breathy, whuffle that only new babies can make. In the dim gray before dawn, he could just make out the stiff shake of his brother's head.

Dean sat up and rubbed at his eyes. 'Sammy, everything okay?'

Dean had decided long ago that it was Sam's silences that were more defining of his state of upset than the level of epic in any of the bitch-fits he'd been known to throw. So, when Sam continued to stand at the foot of Myla's cradle, hunched in so far Dean was surprised he couldn't hear the sound of his ribcage creaking in protest, a shot of something cold and sharp zinged down his spine, and he swung his feet to the floor. 

'Sam, you're scarin' me, man. You look like a serial killer standing there,' Dean tried to joke, but it came out sounding a little shaky and uncertain and harsher than he intended. He saw Sam's shoulders cave in on themselves a little more and heard him let out a rattling sigh. 'Sam?'

'Dean, I wanted…' Sam started, stumbled, only a bare breath of sound passing his lips. 'I wanted to get rid of her.'

Dean was wide awake now, all his big brother alarms going off like klaxons before a battle and joined now by the cacophony of new warnings that he'd been growing accustomed to as a new parent. He stood as Sam's back, put his palms flat against his shoulder blades that arced out in counterpoint to his clavicles' attempt to bend and break itself under the weight of his misery.

'Sam, don't.'

Sam shook his head fiercely, swaying a little in his body's fight to take comfort from his brother's touch while at the same time trying to escape it because he felt he didn't deserve it.

'I wanted you to get rid of her,' he said again, voice taking on a desperate edge. 'Dean if you had done it—if you had given into me—'

'Sam, stop,' Dean commanded. He pressed his hands harder against Sam's back, knowing instinctively that if he tried to hold him right now, Sam would only fight him. 'You were scared. Your own mind was working against you. Hell, Sammy, at that point, I'm not sure you even knew what was real. You said so yourself.'

'But, Dean, if you had given into me—like you have to many times in the past—if you had—' Sam shook his head again, choked off on a sob.

Dean did hold him then, grabbed him hard and spun him and held his face firmly between his hands so he could see, even in the half-light, his brother's wide, terrified gaze.

'I never could have, Sam,' he said solemnly, pouring the words out slowly, like thick concrete that would solidify into a certainty in Sam's mind and block out all his doubts. 'I never could have, I didn't, and she's here. She's here with us now, Sam, alive and perfect, and she's going to grow up good and strong, knowing that she's loved above anything else. We're going to make sure of that.'

Dean threaded his hands into Sam's hair, pulled him down so their foreheads knocked together gently, and then whispered while rubbing soft, reassuring circles against his scalp,

'Let this go, Sam. You're not guilty of anything but being afraid because the whole damn universe stacked itself up against us at some point and pulled out all the stops just to see what would happen. But you survived it, Sam. We both did. We survived the monsters, and the demons, and Heaven's battalions of dick-head angels.' Sam let out a reluctant laugh at this, and Dean quirked a smile momentarily before tipping back a little to meet Sam's eyes very seriously. 'And you…you survived Lucifer himself picking through your brain and using you like a chew toy for more than a century. Then you snubbed your nose at Death himself by having a soul so strong that it couldn't stay bound and quiet, it had to heal and fight and find its way back.' Dean thumbed gently at Sam's temples. 'And it did—you did—find your way back, Sam. And here and now? That's all that matters.'

He waited while Sam soaked it all in, let it permeate him and shore up the weak points of himself still unstable with the continuing fear that he was not cured, that his head was still full of a poison that could suddenly leak out and kill him in an instant and take all this away from him. He waited until Sam finally nodded, very slowly, and then he leaned in and brushed a very soft kiss across Sam's mouth.

'You were right, you know,' Dean whispered into the breath between their lips. 'Someone is taking mercy on us, maybe even watching over us. Because after everything we've seen, Sam, even as strong as we are, there's no way we win this fight and take home the trophy. It's going to go on, with or without us; but someone or some _thing_ has helped us find this little bit of peace, and I want you to take hold of it, Sam. Take hold of it and live in it.' He brushed another kiss against Sam's trembling lips. 'Because we love you, Sammy. _We_ love you. Always.'

It was kind of unavoidable then, and really, Dean had only himself to blame for the chick-flick moment, that Sam broke down into quiet tears that ran in hot little rivers down the side of Dean's neck when Sam buried his face there and clung to his brother like he was the last remaining stanchion in a sea gone wild under wayward storm winds; and Dean held him. Held him as he cried and shook and shivered like a man in the throes of withdrawal while the last of that horribly powerful drug called Fear finally released its hold on him.

After several minutes, when Sam had quieted a little and was breathing easier, Dean said, very seriously,' You realize none of this gets you out of feeding her when she wakes up because you _know_ how she gets when she thinks I'm upset.'

Sam almost barked a laugh at that and, as if on cue, Myla let out a short, sharp insistent little cry that sounded more irritated than needy, but foremost demanding of her fathers' attention.

'Told ya.' Dean smiled.

Sam just chuckled softly, swiped away his tears, and turned to reach down into the cradle and pull his daughter into his arms. 'C'mere, sweet pea, let's get you a bottle, huh?'

Myla cried once more, flailing one tiny hand out toward Dean until he took hold of her fingers and kissed them very softly.

'Papa's right here, baby girl, and doin' just fine. Promise.'

Sam shook his head in wonderment as Myla, satisfied that her other father was indeed all right, settled against Sam's shoulder and cooed softly while she patted at the hand that held her securely, safe and loved, and tugged one big finger into her mouth to happily suckle on it until the required bottle was provided.

'That's my girl,' Dean said, smiling and stroking her cheek. When he looked back up at Sam, though, his gaze was earnest, questioning. 'You all right, Sam?'

Sam nodded and snugged Myla a little closer. 'Yeah,' he said slowly, then smiled. 'Yeah, I'm okay, Dean.'

Dean nodded once and gave his brother's shoulder a playful push. 'Good, then go get our little girl her bottle before she takes a mind to wake the neighbors.'

'Dean, our nearest neighbors are three miles away,' Sam said, already heading down the hallway.

'My point exactly,' Dean said and smiled at the echo of Sam's laughter from the stairwell.

He leaned in the doorway for a moment, staring through the lightening dark after his brother and daughter—after his family. Then very quietly, to no one in particular, he said,

'We're gonna be okay.'

And this time, he believed it.


End file.
